O Sad Slave of the Gods
by In a Quandary
Summary: He refused to die as some brainless vessel of the gods, his soul burned away into oblivion while some high and mighty parasite slipped into his skin like it was nothing more than a travelling garment. The story of VP:S, as told by Rufus. [Permanent Hiatus]
1. The First Meeting

Title: O Sad Slave of the Gods

Rating: T

Genre: General/Adventure

Pairing: Eventual Alicia x Rufus, of course.

A/N: At first, I was so enamoured of the game that I decided to painstakingly transliterate every cutscene and write a game script – since none were present – to post on gamefaqs. However, as I went along, my descriptions became increasingly elaborate. Then I thought, why squander the unnecessary creativity? Therefore, this is more a glorified game script rather than a novelization, heavily based on the in-game dialogue.

Why had I settled for writing in Rufus' perspective rather than Alicia's, or anyone else's, for that matter? It was easier, I suppose. His character bears a greater – albeit limited – resemblance to mine than Alicia's, who I have very little hope of characterizing accurately on the mindscape. Additionally, what with the other characters lacking a consistency of presence throughout the game, his is the only alternative to Alicia's perspective for an unbroken retelling of the tale.

Disclaimer: I don't own VP. 'Nuff said.

Plot summary: He refused to die as some brainless vessel of the gods, his soul burned away into oblivion while some high and mighty parasite slipped into his skin like it was nothing more than a travelling garment. The story of Valkyrie Profile: Silmeria, as told by Rufus.

* * *

**Chapter 1 – Defiers of the Gods**

**Part I: The First Meeting**

It was a beautiful, glorious afternoon at the harbour of Solde. The sky was an unending banner of blue, interrupted by the occasional drifting cloud and the silhouettes of seagulls circling overhead. Upon the brine-washed cobblestone streets, townsfolk bustled to and fro between the numerous stalls, filling the air with their incessant bartering. Complete with the salty breeze and undulating tides where colourful fisherman boats took residence, the town was the very quintessence of prosperity and activity.

The interiors of the town tavern were no less busier, dense with the cacophony of traded gossip rather than people. Here, where swarthy sailors' faces abound, silver coins exchanged hands to make merry with drink (or a less widespread morsel of news). Singular in his refusal to join in the festivities, a lone man sat at a table in the corner, his disinterested expression all but broadcasting the fact that he was lost in his own thoughts.

Tall and lanky of build, he was dressed in traveller's garb of green and brown tones. If one were to look more closely, they would notice the lack of sword arms replaced instead by a well-crafted bow and quiver strapped to his back, indicating a proficiency in the respective arts. More notable still, was the pine-green hair that hung to his waist, secured there by a single band.

His name was Rufus.

Rufus yawned widely, not bothering to cover his mouth, and slouched further in his seat. Collecting information by means of sitting around in taverns was a bother, if a necessary one. After all, he had scented his way here on nothing but the merest whiff of a rumour, a rumour that Dipan, the secluded nation on the northernmost peninsula of the North Lands, was intending to rebel against the gods.

As mankind was at large, a god-worshipping community, such sacrilegious intentions spread through the continent like wildfire, first reaching his ears in the desert village of Kalstad some months ago. The whys and hows of this colossal undertaking had not made themselves apparent to him yet, and may never do so, but he was nevertheless excited. Were he to join Dipan in their unholy defiance, he could have a chance at challenging Odin, the oh-so-_benevolent_ (note: sarcasm) king of Asgard, to win back the right to his own life – or more likely, die, but death was surely better than his accursed fate anyway.

His long, dexterous fingers curled around the handle of his mug, lifting it to his mouth in but one of many instances where he had pretended to drink. He had ordered ale only for the sake of appearing normal – or as 'normal' as someone with unmistakably green hair could appear. The taste did not endear itself to him at all, and none of the liquid touched his lips before he had set the mug down once more.

As much as the bitter, acrid flavour was unpleasant, the memories were more so. Unbidden, his mind roved to an incident where he had, in all foolhardy inexperience, gulped the entire contents of his mug in one go. His sharp senses had been dulled to a sluggish blur, and a bunch of nearby thugs had swiftly taken advantage. He still bore evidence of that time – knife scars across his back and below his ribcage. How he'd managed to survive was truly a wonder.

Shuddering, he quickly dispelled the memory, concentrating instead on the surrounding snippets of conversation, which had grown louder all of a sudden.

"Liner service cancelled today! All departures suspended due to an accident! I've said it a thousand times! There are no plans to resume service!"

"Gimme a break! You mean there are no other ships?"

"No means no!"

He shut out the rest of the increasingly flustered hubbub. Damn and blast. Looks like the option of sailing to Dipan was ruled out for now. What a nuisance.

Long ingrained habit meant that his irritation did not show on his face, but he was broiling inside all the same. He had little choice but to linger in town for a while longer, until they readied the ships for their next voyage to Dipan. He would again have to scrape the bottoms of his extremely limited funds for a mutter and an averted gaze from the innkeeper, and endure the points and stares of the townsfolk at his strange hair and too-delicate features (thankfully his pointed ears could be covered with a simple bandana without incurring suspicion). It was woefully obvious that he did not belong here (or anywhere else, for that matter), and he had no desire to suffer more unwanted attention than he absolutely must.

Perhaps camping outside the town would be a better idea –

His musings were interrupted by the approach of footsteps in his direction. At first, he thought that the owner of said footsteps was going to walk past him, but when they stopped at his table, he couldn't help but release a small breath of astonishment.

Before him stood a diminutive girl of around nineteen years of age, though her small size would easily lead others to believe otherwise. However, his eyes, sharpened by his half-elfin heritage, could pick out the faintest whisper of lines at the corners of her eyes.

"Can I help you?" he said perfunctorily.

She clasped her hands together, visibly nervous. An unsurprising reaction where he was concerned, though mistrust was by far the more prevalent of the two.

"I, um… know a great way to reach Dipan," she babbled, "and… if you wouldn't mind coming… with me?"

He took another glance at her. She was clad in a tight leather bodice complete with puffy sleeves and a short skirt; embroidered stockings covered her legs, which ended in low-heeled shoes. The well-cut fabric spoke of wealth – perhaps she was of noble descent? Long hair the colour of sand framed her heart-shaped face, decorated with an ornate metal hairband. With her wide blue eyes, dainty nose and pouting lips, she could be considered pretty.

Not that he was interested in the slightest. If anything, he wanted nothing more than for her to leave him alone, alone to his discontented musings. Why had she decided to bother _him_, of all people?

"Why me?"

Uncaring of how rude he would appear, he turned his shoulder to her, ending the conversation. Or so he thought.

"Forgive me. I did not introduce myself. I am Alicia, princess of the kingdom of Dipan."

This information surprised him, causing him to turn around to face her. Princess of Dipan, she said? What a remarkable coincidence. _Too remarkable, probably_, his cynical mind injected.

Not only that, but something about her seemed off. Her demeanour had changed all at once, from anxious awkwardness to something regal and befitting of a queen. Where was that stuttering from a moment ago?

"I am concealing my identity for a reason," she continued, and he realized she was kneeling before him, which made him feel distinctly uncomfortable. "It is imperative that I return to Dipan immediately. I am in need of an escort. Seeing you unfazed by the commotion, I could tell you were a man of great calibre. Of course, you will be adequately compensated. Will you accompany me?"

_Me? An escort?_

The idea was admittedly foreign to him. After all, he had been alone all his life, an outcast amongst elves and humans alike. He had never known the comforts of company, never known the intricacies of human interaction between common folk, let alone royalty. Would he bumble and fail to address the princess in a manner suitable for her title? Unquestionably.

Yet, if she knew of an alternative route to Dipan… Anything to hasten his confrontation with Odin and the blissful aftermath – be it victory or death – would be welcome.

He made up his mind. "Sounds fair."

"Then follow me." She rose gracefully and walked away, beckoning him to come follow with a slight jerk of her head. He stared absently after her for a moment, contemplating this latest change of circumstance, before doing so.

* * *

After stocking up on food supplies and other travelling necessities, they left the waterlogged docks and fishy marketplaces of Solde behind, treading along the gravel road that would take them to the Lost Forest. The sun was still high in the sky, but day would no doubt break by the time they reach the woods. The girl paid no heed of this fact, however, simply pressing on with single-minded determination.

She – princess Alicia, somehow he doubted that – was walking a few paces ahead of him, her gait sure and steady. In the process of trailing her around town, he had given the so-called princess of Dipan some serious re-evaluation. For one, why was she alone by herself, without a cortège of loyal retainers to accompany her and carry out all these peasant errands? Secondly, wasn't the princess of Dipan rumoured to have been dead for a while now? And thirdly, why did she so often pause and mutter to the air, as though conversing with it – or more fancifully yet, a person invisible to any senses but her own?

As though giving evidence to his suspicions, she was indeed gesticulating to the air at this very moment. He decided to interrupt her, lest this strange behaviour befuddled him only more.

"Hey, who're you talking to?"

"Hmm?" she murmured absentmindedly, appearing to have just taken notice of him. "Oh – nobody."

He let that one slide; he had more important questions to interrogate her with. If she were an imposter – a possibility that became increasingly apparent to him – what were her intentions? He most assuredly did not want to get mixed up in some fool girl's politicking; being her associate in this sham, however remotely, would guarantee a place for his neck on the chopping board.

While he would welcome death, a death in vain would be all it amounted to in this particular instance.

"Just curious, but you said you're the princess of Dipan, right? What brings –" here, he could not help but imbue the honorific with a measure of incredulity "– _Her Majesty_ out here all alone? And where have you been all this time? They said the only daughter of King Barbarossa died some years ago."

There was a brief pause, then she whipped around with unexpected force, a deluge of questions spewing from her mouth in rapid succession.

"What about you? Where have you been? What do you intend to do in Dipan?"

Taken aback by the girl's sudden change in attitude, he only managed an inarticulate, "Uh."

Sensing her advantage, she pressed on. "Come to think of it, you haven't even told me your name."

Made atypically aware of his own rudeness, he brushed his thumb against the bridge of his nose in chagrin. "My name's Rufus," he supplied.

"A pleasure to meet you, Sir Rufus."

With that, she turned around and marched ahead, leaving him to gape stupidly after her once more.

It was then in the wake of his verbal clumsiness, that he realized she had managed to elude his questions. She was a slippery one; he had to give her credit. But if he kept pestering her about it, she may eventually give in out of sheer annoyance.

Not that it ultimately mattered, anyway. When he reached Dipan, he would be freed of his (foolishly-agreed) duty of escorting her, to at last pursue his retribution against Odin.

No, he would not die as some brainless vessel of the gods. He couldn't. Fate was surely kinder than that.


	2. Into the Lost Forest

**Chapter 1 – Defiers of the Gods**

**Part II: Into the Lost Forest**

With the crimson rays of the dying sun shimmering above their heads, Rufus and his recently acquired charge, princess Alicia of Dipan, set out into the Lost Forest.

He couldn't deny that he was just a mite apprehensive. Not of the princess – though she raised a veritable minefield of questions, his instincts told him there was nothing to fear from her – but rather, of their location. The Lost Forest was far from whimsically named; many a traveller's tale told of a wood that spanned the entire northeastern coastline, so impenetrable that it prevented armies from crossing over on foot to Dipan. Add that to the rumours of adventurers disappearing without a trace, and it was the stuff of nightmares.

Maybe princess Alicia, who was ahead of him as usual, stepping nimbly over the thick undergrowth, hadn't heard the rumours. He didn't have to look at her face to know it was rigid with the same determination that had driven her to approach his reclusive self at the tavern. Even now, she moved inexorably forward as though guided by some inner compass.

He was in the middle of pushing some low-hanging branches aside when a purple shadow suddenly sprang into sight, startling them both. He took a reflexive leap back, his hand automatically reaching for his bow.

"We've got company!"

The purple shadow – wraith, unidentified creature, whatever – did not seem to be composed of solid matter. Tendrils of darkness trailed from its incorporeal limbs, giving it an ever-shifting appearance that watered the eye to follow. It made not the slightest rustle as it moved one ghostly foot over the other across the forest litter, which would explain why his keen ears hadn't picked up on its approach. No doubt his arrows wouldn't even pierce its unearthly flesh.

The hairs on the back of his neck immediately stood on end. Was this the evil that had brought the plucky adventurers of rumour to their doom…?

Then, to his great surprise – and against all good sense – the princess took a step towards the wraith, looking for all of Midgard like it didn't bother her in the slightest.

"Uh… Princess?"

She stilled briefly, as though consulting some kind of inner wisdom, and stretched out her palm. A burst of light shot from it, encasing the wraith in what appeared to be a translucent, golden crystal upon impact.

In all of his twenty-four years, he had yet to see a sight that more bizarre than the one he had just bore witness to.

His bewilderment found its way to his mouth, manifesting itself in a question. "Hey, what did you do?"

"I hit the monster with sacred light," came her matter-of-fact reply, as though hitting monsters with sacred light was an everyday occurrence to her. "It's imprisoned in a crystal. Temporarily."

"Sacred light, huh?"

"Curious?"

_Of course. Who wouldn't be?_ "Yeah."

She cast a sideways glance at him, her eyes alit with a wisdom that did not belong to her young, round-cheeked face. "I absorb energy flowing from the roots of the world tree Yggdrasil, and convert it to light."

She could convert energy from Yggdrasil's roots to light? There was no one he had heard of who possessed such a power – no one _mortal_, at any rate. Could it be that the princess was not actually a princess (as he had suspected), but rather some deity in disguise?

"That's some power," he said conversationally, playing along. "I guess you're not exactly your average princess."

She didn't seem to have heard him; her gaze was riveted on the wraith in its crystal prison.

"What's wrong?" he asked, turning to look at said wraith more closely.

It was then that a loud cracking noise filled the air, and sure enough, visible cracks appeared along the sides of the crystal. Not a second later, the crystal fragmented into golden shards, which instantly vaporized as though they had never been. The wraith, free to move once more, began its lumbering movements towards them anew.

The princess looked completely unperturbed by this. "Looks like we'll need to fight it to purify it."

"_Oh yeah_!" he quipped, knowing that sarcasm was inappropriate in their current situation, but being too agitated to care. "That worked _very well_!"

"Weren't you listening?" Her tone belied her irritation at him. "I said – _temporarily_."

There was a _zing_ of metal as she unsheathed her weapon – a shortsword with a slim, tapered blade. Its fine craftsmanship was a matter to be appreciated at another time, however. He had barely readied an arrow as clouds of purple mist began swirling around the wraith, building up into a miniature storm before dissipating abruptly.

A skeletal soldier stood in its wake, bony hands clutching a spear that was immediately thrust in their direction. Twin lights of sickly yellow glared out from its eye sockets, bespeaking its malevolent intent.

He wasn't foolish enough to let it have the first strike. The arrow he had strung but a moment ago flew from his bow, splitting into a double helix of swirling blue energy that smacked into the skeleton's ribcage. The force of the blow knocked the skeleton back a few yards, but otherwise did no lasting damage.

"Princess!"

She took the cue, having already covered the ground that would enable her to attack their enemy from the other side. A precise upward slash after, and skeleton's skull was severed cleanly from its vertebrae. Disorientated by the loss of its head – and consequently, sense of sight – the skeleton began swinging its spear blindly in an attempt to defend itself. Alicia raised her sword in time to parry its frantic attack, but even her strength would soon give out under the barrage of continuous blows.

Nevertheless, as focused with Alicia as it was, the skeleton had made one dire mistake – and that was exposing its back completely to Rufus. Not one to miss opportunities – especially in combat – he fired an enchanted shot at its unguarded pelvis. The lightning-infused arrow shattered upon impact, causing fragments of electrified bone to fly off in every direction.

Legless now, the torso of the skeleton wriggled feebly on the ground, but Alicia did not give it any chance to recuperate. Stomping down on its bony wrist as to prevent a possible counterattack from its spear, she thrust the blade of her sword into its sternum, dislocating numerous ribs with a sickening crunch. Their enemy gave one final shudder, and then went still.

With his bow still tensed for another shot, Rufus warily approached the skeletal remains, giving it a prod with the toe of his boot. He jumped aside with an exclamation as purple mist swirled around it like before, reforming into a ghostly husk that floated in midair without any tangible form of support.

"Huh. Looks like there's something left."

"The body that held the enemy's psychic energy," replied the princess, who was studiously wiping her blade on the ground, cleaning it of undead residue. "It usually vanishes after the psychic energy is purified."

He frowned, not comprehending at all. "So, what exactly did we just fight?"

"Something not native to that body. Fighting it was the only way to reveal its true form. The psychic energy possesses the body, and uses it as a sort of vessel." The business of cleaning her sword complete, she stood up and sheathed her weapon, before turning to look over her shoulder at him. "We will be encountering more of them ahead. Watch yourself."

"Sure."

They trudged deeper into the forest.

* * *

"So, this'll take us all the way to Dipan, huh?" Rufus jerked his head, indicating the entrance of a cave that was gouged into a nearby cliff face.

They had stopped by a stream for a brief refreshment. The high-pitched warble of trickling water filled the air, soothing his overexcited nerves. That said stream was situated conveniently beside the underground path entrance was a note he tucked into the back of his mind for future use. Had he any need to return here, he could simply listen for the sound of running water, an action his otherwise accursed half-elf heritage granted superiority to.

They had encountered a few more wraiths on their way here, but all were dispatched as swiftly as the first. The princess proved to be something of an anomaly in combat, alternating between confident competency and – dare he say it – cowering reluctance. It was as though two completely different personalities were wrestling for control of the same body.

Either something very weird was going on, or he had an insane (possibly demon-possessed) princess on his hands.

"It seems that way." The weaker of the two personalities appeared to be in residence at the moment. Her voice was all but quivering with uncertainty, which irked him to no end.

"What do you mean, 'seems'? Is there something you're not telling me?"

Of course there were plenty of things she wasn't telling him, but he had hoped to catch her off-guard with the question.

For one fleeting moment, she looked like she was going to relent and divulge the secrets of her predicament to him. But that moment was gone in the next second, her demeanour changing abruptly. The soul that greeted him from behind the blue windows of her eyes was that of his leash-yanker (as he had so unaffectionately dubbed her in his mind) once more. And worse yet, she wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention to his words.

Annoyed, he stepped in front of her and bent down to plant his face directly into her line of sight. "Hey, are you listening to me?"

Her eyes were focussed on something beyond him, and curiosity bade that he follow her gaze. A wizened staff sat in the pebbled shallows of the stream, propped up against a rock. There wasn't anything remarkable about it, save for the way it held her attention so.

Then, quite suddenly, she and the staff were engulfed in a mist as bright as the open heavens themselves. An unearthly hum roared in Rufus' ears, causing unpleasant tingles to shoot up his spine and his skin to erupt in gooseflesh even under the many layers of fabric. He fidgeted in discomfort, frightened by what was happening. Was she summoning a spirit back from the dead?

Just _who_ had he gotten himself involved with?

As though in a trance, she began to walk towards the staff with her hand outstretched, white mist spilling copiously from the vicinity of her chest all the while. That same mist coalesced into the vague, blurry shape of a ghost, who detached from Alicia's body to reach out for the staff himself. As his – Rufus assumed the ghost to be male, judging by the height – hand curled around its handle, his form became increasingly defined, if still colourless. A distinctive, pointed hat materialized atop his head, and embroidered mage's robes wove into existence around his body.

"My einherjar!" cried Alicia, sounding more like a field commander than a princess right at that very moment. "Come now to fight alongside me, for the sake of Midgard! You know of what I speak."

Einherjar? Did she just say 'einherjar'? The human souls of those who had perished in battle, selected to be reincarnated into spirit flesh and brought to Valhalla in preparation for the end-apocalypse, Ragnarok?

Could it be that he was unwittingly paying escort to a _valkyrie_? A battle maiden goddess, chooser of the slain?

By the time his mind had caught up to what he had just seen, Alicia was facing her newly-summoned sorcerer einherjar, her palm outstretched to him. Then, in a move than caused Rufus' jaw to gape wider than it already was, said einherjar disintegrated into white mist, which gathered in her palm and solidified into a crystal.

"I'll call for you," she said softly, tucking the crystal into her blouse with tender care. "Until then, wait in here."

And at long last, the unearthly humming that had held Rufus' senses captive died, signifying the end of this very odd incident he had just witnessed and relinquishing his temporary inability to speak along with it. Nevertheless, his words were clumsy and garbled as they formed around his tongue. "I – I don't believe it!"

She merely acknowledged his astonishment with a nod, and immediately made in the direction of the cave entrance. "We should make haste."

Mind still fuzzy, he tilted his head up to look at the sky, which had deepened to the hue of indigo. "But it's dark now," he grumbled. "Can't we set up camp? We'll feel better rested in the morning."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "And who'll be keeping first watch? You?"

Of course he wasn't going to volunteer that – not that he would admit it. Having travelled with none other than himself, he was used to indulging whatever urge that happened to overtake him at the time, be it resting at the first sign of weariness, or eating as soon as his stomach protested. It appeared that he would have to make some personal sacrifices in her company, unfortunately.

Her knowing eyes told him she knew exactly what he was thinking. And far be it for her to grant him these small, if slothful comforts.

"I suggest we keep moving on while our senses are still keen and alert." Her tone brooked no argument.

He sighed, trailing after her obediently. "Yes, princess."


	3. Crossing the Subterranean

**Chapter 1 – Defiers of the Gods**

**Part III: Crossing the Subterranean**

Dank, gloomy and cramped to the point of inducing claustrophobia – that was how Rufus would describe the royal underground path. The ceiling, reinforced by stone arches in some parts and left bare in others, hung low, suspended only a foot or so above his head (and sometimes, not even that). Puddles littered the ground at regular intervals, making slipping a significant hazard.

Having but infrequent use, the torches in the wall brackets were unlit, meaning that they had to bring in their own. This was a right nuisance – what with one hand being occupied with the torch, his shooting capabilities were effectively disabled. Defence, in his case, was restricted to a pitiful utility knife. That, coupled with the fact that cave-dwellers of all sorts liked to ambush them from the shadows, he and princess Alicia were having a rather rough time of it – even if said cave-dwellers were extremely weak.

Moreover, he felt like his senses were clogged here. It was cold, numbingly so; he could barely feel his fingertips. As keen as his eyes may be, they were no better than any ordinary human's in the dark. And while the narrow, twisting passageways channelled sound as well as any enclosed space, the constant reverberation disrupted his ability to pinpoint sources accurately.

In short, Rufus hated the place. The sooner they reached the exit, the better.

"Are we there yet?" he asked for at least the third time.

The princess – or rather, her silhouette; the visibility was that poor – splashed through a puddle noisily. "No."

"Just how long is this underground path?"

"A day's travel, last I checked."

An annoyed breath escaped him, misting the air despite its proximity to his torch. "You're telling me we've been up all night trying to get through this hellhole?" Not that he could even tell it was night anymore.

Predictably, his remark failed to garner a response. Nevertheless, he persisted with more questions, if only to distract himself from the cold. "Anyway, what did you do back there? Who was that other guy, the one who only reappears in battle?"

"Materialization," came her echoing reply. "The return of the einherjar to their living forms through an object that contains their remnant thoughts. The one you saw is called Mithra. As his soul is not sufficiently strong, he cannot yet maintain a physical presence without my help."

"Einherjar?" His tone properly conveyed his incredulity. "You're telling me that the souls of the fallen, chosen for the war of the gods, just _float_ around here?"

"No. They exist within me." She finally stopped to throw him an irritated glance over her shoulder. "Satisfied?"

Not at all. He didn't understand. Even if she had no intention to tell him more than what was absolutely necessary, why didn't she make more effort towards concealing her true identity as a valkyrie? And why did she insist on masquerading as the supposedly dead princess of Dipan, knowing full well that she had busted her cover many times over?

Not that he had any business getting involved with her. Being a valkyrie would effectively make her Odin's underling, which meant his immediate end if she caught wind of his plans to 'commit sacrilege' against her master.

There was little point in lamenting his choice to accept her proposition as her escort, now. All he could do was rid himself of her as soon as humanly possible.

* * *

An hour's hard trekking found them at a broken bridge, its middle clearly blown through. Rufus stepped up to the railing, looking down into the gap below. A seemingly bottomless chasm of at least twenty yards wide stood between him and the other side, ruling out the possibility of crossing with rope.

"Looks like we won't be able to get across from here," he said, retreating cautiously from the edge. "Do you know of an alternate route?"

Once again, the princess wasn't paying attention to him – a habit, however annoying, that he had grown accustomed to by now. She had descended to her knees upon the ground, seemingly transfixed by something in the dirt. He watched as she brushed said dirt aside, revealing a golden – or what he assumed to be golden at some point in the past – pendant with blue and red gemstones set into its elaborate design.

A minute or so passed while the familiar mistiness of recollection clouded her eyes. If her expression was anything to go by, those memories were far from fond. Nevertheless, her motions were tender as she scooped up the pendant and tucked it into the pocket of her travelling rucksack.

Something in the vicinity of his chest twinged at the forlorn sight, but it was gone before he could pin it down with words.

She stood up. "Let's go."

It was then that he noticed the silhouette of an object sticking out of the ground by the railing. Upon closer inspection, it turned out to be a gargantuan sword, though the make was so crude that it could hardly be classified as such. A dull, solid panel of iron at least six inches wide comprised the blade, and the relatively blunt edge was riddled with nicks. No doubt it weighed more than the princess herself.

Not a second later, a white mist sprung up around the sword, startling him. A reflexive glance over his shoulder revealed the princess to be engulfed in a similar mist, her hand outstretched. Apparently, she was performing another one of these 'materializations'.

This time, it was a hulking behemoth of a ghost that emerged from her body to approach the sword. However, unlike the first einherjar Mithra, as he was called by the princess, this ghost solidified completely, his incorporeal body turning into tangible flesh. Enormous, bulging muscles rippled across every square inch of his body, enabling him to ease the hefty sword from the ground without so much as breaking a sweat.

When he turned in their direction, Rufus was surprised to see vestiges of youth in the warrior's strong, broad features – while not entirely young, he couldn't have served on the battlefield for very long. Dark, shoulder-length hair parted at the front into two wide bangs that framed his face, leaving the rest to be gathered back at his nape.

"My einherjar –" started Alicia, but the man raised a gigantic hand to forestall her.

"Stop." His voice was a low, far-carrying rumble. "Midgard is in trouble, is it not? I'm ready to go with you."

"So your body is strong enough?"

"As is my soul."

"That's good."

The warrior's gaze then moved to Rufus. "Dylan," he said by way of introduction, extending his hand.

Rufus grasped the proffered hand. By the gods, the other man's grip could shatter bones! He managed to let none of his discomfort show, however. "I'm Rufus."

"Are you the princess' escort, then?"

"Yep, that's me."

As they continued on their way, Rufus unabashedly observed the newcomer, who was either ignoring him or concentrating too intently on the princess or their surroundings to take notice. His awe-inspiring strength was witnessed first-hand in the demise of a few unlucky fiends, his sword cutting through them as though they were nothing more than oversized lumps of soft cheese. Whatever the case, Rufus was certainly relieved that he wasn't on the sharp – or relatively blunt, to be more precise – end of _that_ sword.

Physical capabilities aside, the warrior bore all the signs of an unshakably devoted patriot. He trailed after the princess obediently, never questioning, never exhibiting the slightest trace of skepticism at her (rather dubious) methods of navigation. However mysteriously sound her other decisions might be, even Rufus had to ask how stretching one's hand out towards the walls equated to selecting the correct path at all.

"Wait. Are you sure this is the right way?" he griped after the fourth time his two companions had automatically headed for the right fork in the road.

The princess paused in mid-step, but didn't bother turning around to face him. "I've been checking our path by reading psychic energy present in objects along the way. I know where we're going."

"What're you talking about?"

Dylan looked at him, surprise in his small, dark eyes. "You've never heard of 'object reading'?"

Trust the newly-materialized einherjar to be of no help at all. "Actually, _no_."

* * *

At Rufus' insistence, the group stopped for some much needed rest (with Dylan keeping sentinel) before setting out again. Unfortunately, only more hours of gruelling footwork through monotonous cavern systems awaited them, wearing thin tempers so much so that the air between them was palpable with irritability. No doubt the sun was already blazing overhead in the world outside, and still they were no closer to the blasted exit –

"I think the exit is close."

– or not, if the princess' words could be believed.

They were in a large, spacious chamber. Surprisingly enough, the many torches scattered throughout the area were lit – but not by ordinary fire, if the white colour was any indication. (Lit chambers were good – it meant he could use his bow if need be.) At the other end of the chamber, a circular dais surrounded by four pillars could be seen. No stairs ascending to the surface, though.

"You only _think; _you don't actually _know_?" Rufus, whose patience was long exhausted by now, sniped at Alicia.

Dylan took a menacing step in his direction. "Watch your mouth, you uncouth bastard! Don't you dare insult the princess like that! Your whining's insufferable!"

"Hey, _she_ asked me to come along," he retorted, indicating Alicia's back with a careless flip of his hand. "Besides, I'm not even a citizen of Dipan; it's not like it matters."

"Even so, such insolence is not to be tolerated in Her Majesty's presence! If you will not swear allegiance to the princess, then I suggest you take your leave!"

"Quiet!" interjected the princess before Rufus could open his mouth to argue back. "Hadn't you two bickered enough already on the way here?"

Dylan lowered his head, suitably chastened, but Rufus maintained his defiant glare. Ignoring the latter, she continued, "I sense a guardian beast. Judging by that previous display, I trust you two have quite a sufficient amount of fight left in you?"

"Guardian beast? So the king of Dipan keeps pet monsters?" asked Rufus incredulously.

She turned around to face him. "They're not the king's," she explained. "These are souls who swear loyalty to Dipan, still bound to their country after death. They take the form of beasts to protect their land from invaders." Here, her lip curled with the hint of a smirk. "I hope you're not too unnerved by this. I'd hate to think that I'd misjudged your calibre."

Rufus let out an indignant sniff at that, and brushed brusquely past her to approach the dais ahead. How dare she taunt him, after all the times he'd stuck out his own neck to save her sorry ass in battle -! Oh, he'll show her 'calibre', alright.

He stopped in his tracks as a magical whirlwind suddenly sprang up around the dais, illuminating the outline of an invisible creature taking residence there. When it dissipated, a beast resembling an enormous, armoured centaur stood before them. Its long, reptilian tail was covered in metal plates, and its arms were not arms so much as canoe-sized shields. A huge, lethal-looking horn protruded from its head, completing its rather intimidating appearance.

Rufus swallowed unconsciously. This was going to take a while.

As always, he took the first strike, firing an experimental arrow at the exposed junction between arm and body. The beast raised its shielded arm in response, causing the arrow to glance off its armour harmlessly. Bloody Hel. Until the others managed to dismantle some of its armour – and avoid being gored in the process – he was going to be pretty useless in this fight. So much for showing off his calibre, indeed.

Oh well. He could still opt for the distraction route; his enchanted bolts were particularly – if one could pardon the pun – enchanting. A lightning-infused arrow soared high into the air and struck the beast's horn – again, without effect – holding its attention long enough for speedy Alicia to rush in and slip her blade between the scales at its flank. Alas, her attack did not seem to do any lasting damage; all too soon, the beast regained its bearings and, with a powerful sweep of its tail, sent she and her sword flying. Her startled scream came to an abrupt halt as she collided with a nearby wall and bounced off of it, collapsing in a heap onto the ground.

"Princess!" he and Dylan cried out simultaneously.

Before either man could rush to her aid, they were interrupted by a loud, metallic sound. A flurry of shelled projectiles was suddenly approaching them, their intention deadly. While Dylan simply raised the flat of his blade to deflect the projectiles, Rufus was forced to leap out of harm's way. He ended up sprawled in the dirt, but now was hardly the time to consider how undignified he may have appeared as the beast lowered its horn and began charging at him with alarming speed.

He barely scrambled to his feet in time to throw himself aside once more, narrowly escaping a painful death by disembowelment (or from being pulverised by stampeding hooves). This time, it was the beast that had miscalculated – its momentum was too great for it to do otherwise than barrel uncontrollably into the wall behind. The ensuing crash caused the entire chamber to shake, and for another one of too many frightening moments in the span of two minutes, Rufus thought that the ceiling was going to cave in on them.

Dylan's voice roused him from his fear-induced stupor. "Now!"

There was a flash of metal before Dylan's blade descended in a mighty arc, cleaving the beast's tail cleanly from its body. The beast's shriek of agony filled the air, escalating to nearly unbearable levels as Rufus took the opportunity to pelt its exposed backside with arrows. By the time it finally managed to extricate itself from the wall, a considerable amount of its back armour had been shaved off, courtesy of Dylan. Unfortunately, just as the knight was about to plunge his blade into the beast's now-vulnerable back, he was knocked aside by a blow from its shielded arm.

The beast then swivelled around to face Rufus. However, as the loss of its tail caused it to be front-heavy, it overbalanced and toppled forward onto its front feet. Far from being defenceless, the beast blasted away its arm armour in a move that would have surely decapitated Rufus had he not managed to duck in time.

Okay, all these close brushes with death were starting to really tick him off -!

Rising to his feet, Rufus noticed that the beast's previous struggle with the wall had dislocated some of its head armour, and wasted no time in loosing an arrow at its unprotected eye. The beast let out a deafening screech of pain that was cut short as Alicia, who had suddenly appeared out of nowhere, dealt the finishing strike. A violent thrust of her blade down its throat after, and the beast finally crumpled onto the ground, unmoving.

The shuffle of footsteps approached him from behind, and he turned around to see Dylan, who sported a bleeding cheek, press his hands together in a prayer-like gesture.

"You can sleep quietly now," he addressed the now-lifeless beast, which had begun to disintegrate into tendrils of white mist. "We will keep Dipan safe in your stead."

It was then that Alicia collapsed onto her knees, keeping herself upright only by using her sword as a brace.

"Princess! Are you alright?"

Her heavy pants, amplified to obscene loudness by the cavernous walls, bespoke her condition. "I… will be f-fine."

"I think not," argued Dylan. "Your breathing is laboured; you had overexerted yourself. Here, please sit." He set surprisingly gentle hands around Alicia's waist and shoulders, and carefully lowered her to the ground.

"Yes," she gasped, "but Fortune… had surely smiled upon us if – if the only casualty we sustained… are a couple of bruised ribs."

"Speak no more, Your Majesty; you must save your strength. It is best if your injuries are tended to immediately, at least until we have availed ourselves of Dipan's medical facilities. If the lady would permit me?"

"Go… ahead."

The next ten minutes proved to be – oddly enough – an exercise in contemplation. To preserve what little modesty the princess had, Rufus was to be on the lookout for approaching threats (all the while keeping the requisite distance) as Dylan played nursemaid to her. The princess, on her part, was surprisingly stoic; the treatment only elicited from her a few gasps of pain, which were immediately followed by Dylan's soft, reassuring murmurs. A lot had undoubtedly transpired between the valkyrie – her identity as such was thoroughly confirmed by now – and her einherjar for them to act with such familiarity towards each other.

Witnessing their interaction, Rufus didn't know what exactly he felt, only that it was a curious, empty sensation in his chest.

He had never had anyone touch him in any manner that reflected concern – or was, at the very least, non-threatening. While the elves who raised him never lifted an admonishing hand in his direction – for them, to resort to that kind of violence was nothing short of vulgar – their ire was expressed in subtler, crueller ways. As for humans, aside his unfortunate encounters with those of less-than-benevolent intent (a particular drinking incident was unwillingly called to mind), he had never dwelled in their company for long enough to reach any level of physical comfort.

Now he wondered, would it feel pleasant to have someone clap him on the shoulder in a gesture of camaraderie, as humans often did? Or to have someone tend to his wounds with tender care, in the manner that Dylan was tending to his princess right at this moment?

He shook his head. Fate had preordained for him to be alone; there was no use thinking about that. No use coveting so simple a thing as the intimacy of touch, for it would never be his.

When they were at last ready to proceed onwards, he trailed after them in uncharacteristic silence, lest his bleak emotions threaten to burst from their confines and overwhelm him. To his relief, no one commented on it.

* * *

A final climb up a lengthy, unbroken flight of stairs found them at the entrance to the outskirts of Dipan at long last. (As Alicia was in no state to carry out such a feat, she was treated to a free ride in Dylan's arms instead.) Never had Rufus been gladder to hear the chirping of crickets and inhale the night-scented air. He could scarcely believe they had spent a mere day crawling their way through the underground path; it had felt like so much longer.

"So, this is Dipan."

They stood atop a hill overlooking the northernmost city of the continent. The full moon floated in the starry heavens above, but the city's inhabitants had no need of its radiance. Silver magic spilled from the numerous lamps upon the streets, suffusing each district with ethereal light until the city resembled no less than a field of shimmering, stationery fireflies. It was easily the most beautiful sight of human creation he had ever seen.

Alicia's voice was soft with undisguised fondness. "My home."

"Which means," said Rufus with perhaps too much eagerness, "it's the end of the line for me. I'll just take what's coming to me, and let Her Majesty be on her way." He flourished his arm, giving a sardonic little bow.

"Please!" With her small, delicate hands clasped together, Alicia was the very image of guileless entreaty. "Won't you escort me to the castle? To Father – I mean, to the king."

Dylan, ever the faithful soldier, spoke up immediately. "As a loyal knight of Dipan, I will accompany you anywhere. The land appears much as I remember it. I believe I can lead the way."

The princess did not seem satisfied by this, however, turning her wide, pleading eyes to Rufus. He almost sighed aloud. Hadn't she bothered him _enough_?

"You're a princess, right? Can't you just – toot on a whistle and have some loyal servant whisk you back there?"

When no answer was forthcoming, he knew he could feign ignorance no longer. "As I thought. You don't have any loyal servants in the castle, do you?" His words caused her to shift in discomfort, but he continued on relentlessly. "Don't you think it's about time you gave up this little charade, _princess_ Alicia? Or perhaps, since I can only assume the souls of your heavens-bound einherjar are listening, it would be simpler if I just called you, Valkyrie."

"Indeed."

Comprehension clicked. Insanity was not the reason for her erratic behaviour, but the presence of two distinct personalities within the same body, two distinct souls. "There's two of you in there!"

"I'm Silmeria. Hello." Now that he thought on it, the valkyrie's – Silmeria's – voice sounded different. A little deeper and huskier, and infinitely more experienced.

"The sister of Hrist and Lenneth," he mused aloud, trying to reconcile what he knew of her character first-hand with the pre-established one of legend. "Youngest of the trinity of goddesses that rule over fate under Odin. But – valkyries aren't incarnated as humans. Not without a reason.

"I've heard that Dipan is planning to rebel against the gods." He raised a finger, pointing it dramatically at Silmeria as another piece of the puzzle sunk into place. "You must be here to find evidence of that and bring it back to Odin!"

Silmeria shook her head, sending strands of Alicia's sand-blonde hair aflutter. "Whatever you might've heard, this valkyrie is no longer a servant of Odin's. It was Odin's mistake that awakened me, when I should have been reborn as princess Alicia without any memory of my time as a valkyrie."

He remained unconvinced. "Ah! But that doesn't necessarily mean that you oppose him!"

"Granted – there's no way I can prove it," she conceded with surprising ease. Ironically, this allayed his suspicion of her more than it would have had she made a passionate rebuttal instead. She turned around to leave. "I bid you farewell. Take care."

She and Dylan began walking away, but Rufus wasn't done yet.

"Hold on!" he called out, prompting them to pause and look over their shoulders at him. "I'm not saying I don't believe you. Just tell me one thing. What will you do when you meet the king?"

Silmeria stared Rufus directly in the eye, and it was impossible to deny the resolve shining in her own. "I'll assess the king's sincerity," she proclaimed, "then prepare Dipan for war with the gods."

He did not reply straightaway. Curling his right hand into a fist, he gazed down at the ring that encircled his middle digit. At first glance, it appeared to be a purely decorative piece of jewellery, wrought of blackened mithril with a large ruby cast into its centre. He wore it only for the sake of necessity; it was a constant reminder that his life was not his own. For the Ring of Mylinn was crafted by the gods themselves, its purpose to stop time for its wearer – he would never age with it on.

Of course, the ring of eternal youth came with a heavy price.

Defiance had prompted him to remove it immediately upon its bequeathal; the pain that consumed him then would surely have burned his soul to ash had he but the presence of mind to return the ring to his finger. It was the curse placed upon him, an abomination born of man and elf, that made his life forfeit without the ring – a curse to be the replacement vessel for Odin should Odin's (current) body ever fail. In such an event, the soul known as Rufus would be displaced from his own body and cease to exist forevermore, banished even from the cycle of death and rebirth.

It was a dreadful fate, and one he hoped to escape by any means possible. As far-fetched as a disenchanted valkyrie's crusade may sound, it was the only chance he had.

"Count me in."

* * *

A/N: Yes, I am aware that I have taken a good number of liberties in this chapter – especially with the appearance of the royal underground path and Dylan's manner of speech. (And I am about to take still more liberties in the next.) Being a knightly character, formal mannerisms would suit him better – or so went my reasoning.

That said, I'm quite fond of Dylan as a playable character. He does an excellent job of cutting through the swathes of annoying critters at the Seraphic Gate.


	4. The Shadow Beneath the Royal Crown

**Chapter 2 – Darkness in Dipan**

**Part IV: The Shadow Beneath the Royal Crown**

As Dipan lay at the northernmost peninsula of the North Lands, it was hemmed in at three corners by the ocean, and the fourth by the impassable expanse otherwise known as the Lost Forest. This proved to be a major inconvenience to traders, who – courtesy of having their seafaring transport mysteriously sunk by pirates – were suddenly deprived of their only means of returning the mainland continent. Consequently, they were forced to remain in Dipan, and despite being not entirely many of number, they were numerous enough to occupy all the inns in the city.

This was the dilemma Rufus, who had been tasked with the business of finding the group a room, found himself in. And he absolutely despised it.

For one, he roamed the populace again, which more or less guaranteed his role as the latest spotlight for attention. There were those who believed themselves to be gawking surreptitiously from afar (and would be were it not for his enhanced hearing):

"_Mamma, is his hair really green? Like my vegetables?"_

"_Hush, Melissa, and do put that hand down. It's rude to point."_

Then there were those who were incapable of minding their own business:

"_Forgive me for asking, young mister, but did you have an accident at the nearby dyeing factory?_

Finally, lest anyone forget the original reason for this hellish, vein-popping episode:

"_I'm sorry, but we're all occupied here. Why don't you try the next inn downtown?"_

"_I'm afraid there are no vacancies, sir. You have our sincerest apologies."_

"_Can't you tell we're filled up like a barnhouse at harvest? Shoo! Be off with you!"_

"_Hmm, aren't ya an exotic-looking 'un? Sure, I'll let ya stay – if ya wouldn't mind offering a little romp in exchange, heheh._ (That came from a man with stained, lopsided teeth, mind you.)

After inquiring at a minimum of six inns to no avail, a dangerously ticked-off Rufus decided that he had had enough. Finding the princess at their prearranged waiting spot, he seized her unceremoniously by the wrist and hauled her to the closest establishment, where they had sent him away with a nearly ad verbatim excuse as the last.

"You. Do. It."

In the end, that turned out to be the best decision he had made all evening. Upon clapping eyes on Alicia, the innkeeper's lips parted into a round 'o' of surprise. Apparently, anyone who bore a passing resemblance to the (supposedly) late princess of Dipan was sure to gain the interest – and more significantly, _favour_ – of the locals.

"_Oh my goodness… Would you look at her, Tom? That hair, those wide, blue eyes – isn't it just uncanny? And so pretty, too! Just like how she would have grown up to be!" _

"_Good evening, ma'am. I umm… would like to hire a room for three, please."_

"_Might I ask your name, dearie?"_

"_I'm Alicia."_

"_Remarkable, you even share her name! Yes, it's popular all around, but I daresay it suits you better than most! You're aware that you look uncannily like our late princess, don't you?"_

"_Umm… yes?"_

"_Such a tragedy, for illness to have befallen her at so tender an age. She was a delightful child. The king and queen have not been the same without her. Her passing was a grievous blow to our country, and couldn't have been any less so to the royal family._

"_Anyway, back to business! Truth be told, we're packed to the rafters with stranded traders since that horrible pirate incident, but I'm sure we can find a room just for you, dearie!"_

And that was how they came to be in the attic.

The tiny room was absent of furnishings save a single window and bed, which, by custom of chivalrous conduct, was automatically granted to the princess. This didn't bother Rufus, for the surrounding haystacks made as comfortable a bed as any – if one didn't mind sleeping completely dressed to protect against the prickling of individual pieces of hay, of course. Dylan, on the other hand, seemed content to stretch out on the wooden floorboards. He fell asleep in moments, his rhythmic snores echoing in the small space they shared.

Rufus did not surrender to slumber's embrace so readily, however. Long after the princess had stopped shifting under her blankets, he remained gazing unseeingly into the rafters, afraid of what would befall him in the vulnerability of repose.

Would he never wake? Would the curse that so damned him activate upon Odin's sudden whim to acquire a new body, banishing his soul to the realm of eternal oblivion? Would his entire existence be futile, culminating in the same fashion as that of a lamb raised for slaughter – his conception serving no purpose other than to yield his flesh by means of becoming a vessel?

Would the half-elf known as Rufus mean nothing to anyone, never to be remembered, never to be cherished?

These thoughts paced back and forth within his mind, preventing rest more effectively than willpower ever could. It was not until several hours had passed before exhaustion finally pressed down on his eyelids, closing them.

He awoke to the dawn with a mouthful of hay, having turned onto his stomach sometime in the night. A quick glance through bleary eyes revealed the princess to be sitting by the window, a delicate hand held over her mouth as though she were stifling a giggle. She was already fully dressed save for her hairband, which had been forgone in lieu of running a comb through her silky locks.

Her greeting was warm and not at all unwelcome. "Good morning, Rufus."

"Hey there, princess," he replied, rolling onto his back and stretching. The action caused hay to fall from above into his mouth, which he spat out irritably. "Where's Dylan?"

"He's gone out to run some errands. He ought to be back soon."

"Right." He sat up and felt around the back of his head with his hands. Just as he suspected, his hair was now a veritable pincushion, having had innumerable clumps of hay lodged into it. The fact that his clothes sustained only the minimum of hay invasion came as a small relief. "And how're you feeling?"

"Much better. My ribs are still a little sore, but I think we should be able to go see the king today."

"If you say so, princess."

Damnable hay! While loosing his hair and shaking it out made some leeway into dislodging the fluffy yellow nuisances, it wouldn't remove those stuck at the top of his head. Even so, there was no way he would untie his bandanna to ease the process, lest his pointed ears be revealed. The details of his half-elfin heritage were a well-guarded secret, and he fully intended on keeping it that way.

"Would you… call me 'Alicia'?"

The request surprised him, drawing his attention from his hay-ridden hair long enough to look at her. Her small, delicate hands were clasped together at her bosom in a gesture of shy sincerity. It seemed to be something she did very often, if unconsciously.

As for the request itself, he certainly had no problems with informality. In his experience, it tended to be more honest than the flamboyant posturing adopted by the upper class, anyway.

"Sure. Why, though?"

She gave a nervous fidget. "It's… friendlier, I suppose. Well, think about it this way – it's like me calling you 'Mister Rufus'. Unless," she added hastily, "you would prefer me to?"

He let out a snort of disbelief, and shook his head emphatically. "Hel, no. Just 'Rufus' is fine. 'Mister Rufus' sounds so…" he rummaged around for the right word, "_stuffy_."

At that, her tentative laughter filled the room, as softly radiant as the rising sun outside. It ended prematurely, however, the cause making itself evident in her clutching of her ribs and clenched teeth. Worried, he started towards her, but she raised a hand to forestall him before taking a few deep breaths to regain her composure.

Their encounter with the guardian beast from which she sustained her injury must have been foremost in her thoughts, for she said, "You know, I wish we could avoid these meaningless battles. Silmeria insists that I should get used to combat, but I hate it. I don't want to be hurt, and I don't want to hurt anyone. Wouldn't it be simpler if we could just discuss things instead of fighting?"

However refreshing her naivety may be in a world where blood was drawn at the pettiest of provocations, the realist in him could not indulge it. "Yeah, but not everyone wants to just 'discuss things'."

"When we fought the guardian beast, I eventually had to let Silmeria take control. You saw what happened, didn't you? When I tried to attack it from behind?"

He recalled with unrelenting clarity how she was thrown into the wall by a swipe of the beast's tail, and winced sympathetically.

"Yeah, that looked like it really hurt."

"Despite the pain," continued Alicia, hiding her face behind her curtain of sand-blonde hair as though she were ashamed, "Silmeria was able to get up and help you win the battle. But I… I couldn't do anything. I was useless."

"Silmeria's a battle maiden. Fighting-wise, you can't possibly compare with her."

"Even so, I'm only a burden to everyone." Before Rufus could open his mouth to argue, she plunged on ahead, her eyes shining with a strange sort of desperation. "Please don't try to deny it. I am, aren't I? All I can ever do is get in yours or Dylan's way."

By all that was holy on Asgard, the princess had certainly picked the last person capable of comforting teenaged females with self-worth problems. He fidgeted uncomfortably for a moment, but was saved from having to formulate a reply by a knock on the door, which swung open to permit the massive bulk of Dylan inside.

"I have returned, Your Majesty," the warrior said unnecessarily, inclining his head in Alicia's direction. "I see you're awake, Rufus," he added as his gaze fell upon the half-elfin archer.

"Morning to you too, Dylan," Rufus greeted back. It was then that he became aware of a large drawstring bag clutched in the warrior's gigantic fist. "What's in that?"

"This?" Dylan held up the bag, noticing Rufus' eyes on it. "I have been gathering provisions lest we need travel once more, but it is my hope that our journey ends here."

"It is mine, also," piped up Alicia earnestly. She stood up, putting away her comb and setting her hairband into its proper position. "Well then, shall we go?"

A flurry of skirts marked her exit through the door. Dylan made to follow her, but paused as he caught sight of something. Something on Rufus' face (or hair), if his bemused expression was anything to go by.

Rufus felt his brows bunch together in an unflattering frown. "What?"

Dylan hesitated for a moment, then, seemingly unable to contain himself, blurted aloud the question that Rufus had not, in a million eons, wanted to hear.

"You are aware that there is hay in your hair?"

* * *

After some tidying up to make themselves – or Rufus, to be more specific – suitably presentable (Alicia had offered to remove the hay from his hair, to his great mortification), the group arrived at the castle postern. A lone guard stood by the iron gates, his well-burnished platemail gleaming in the shrubbery-muted sunlight. When it became apparent that they were approaching him, he raised the visor of his helm, presumably to see them better.

Here was a job he would never agree to, thought Rufus absently. However well it paid, there were few things duller than standing sentinel in a suit of heavy, clunky armour.

Alicia stepped forward. "Good morning, sir knight," she greeted, as polite as always.

The guard inclined his head in reply. "Good morning to you too, miss. Have you come to file a request?" He certainly wasted no time in getting to the point.

"Yes. We would like to be granted an audience with the king, if you please."

He cocked a questioning eyebrow at them. "And who might you be?"

"I umm…"

Dylan, noticing Alicia's hesitation, quickly interceded on her behalf. "Travellers. And a fellow citizen of Dipan." He indicated himself proudly with a thump of his fist against his chest. "We bring tidings from foreign lands."

There was a moment in which the guard narrowed his eyes suspiciously at them, but his voice was cordial when he continued, "I'm sorry, but the king has not granted audiences to the public for some years, now. Not since the death of our beloved princess Alicia. I'm afraid you must turn back."

"That is… unfortunate," replied Alicia – no, Silmeria; her voice was the husky one of the valkyrie's. It was disconcerting how she could so suddenly exchange control with Alicia like that. "We thank you for your time."

She dropped a formal curtsey before turning around to leave, Rufus and Dylan at her heels.

"Well, this certainly complicates matters," quipped Rufus once they were out of hearing range, which was to say, some thirty yards away.

Silmeria's lips were pursed in displeasure. "It appears we have no choice but to sneak in and confront the king ourselves. Unfortunately, I do not know of an alternate way to gain entry –"

"Worry not, my lady," Dylan interjected reassuringly. "We knights are granted knowledge of a secret passageway into the castle, to be used in times of emergency. It is probably still intact today."

Convenient of Dylan to mention useful information of that sort _now_. "Why couldn't we have used that from the beginning?"

"Because that would make us intruders," snapped Silmeria, throwing Rufus a look that plainly spoke what she thought of his intelligence for missing something so obvious. "We would be wandering the castle without authorized permit. Getting caught would at best result in imprisonment, at worst, a public execution."

Rufus winced. "That's certainly harsh."

"Uncompromising penalties have to be established where the royal family's safety is concerned," persisted Silmeria, undeterred. "I propose we wait till nightfall. The halls will be less occupied then, with fewer eyes to detect our trespass."

A nod from Dylan indicated his acquiescence to her plans. For one as patriotic as he to contribute to a task that may as well be considered treason, the situation must be dire, indeed.

As for Rufus himself, whatever reservations he held for risking his neck unnecessarily had no option but to be tossed to the wind. He was well and truly mired in their affairs, now – his fate depended wholly on their success. Perhaps, Silmeria, in her divine wisdom, had known this all the way back when she first laid eyes on him in the tavern at Solde, and beckoned he come as unresistingly as he did.

All that was left to do was to wait until the cover of dark. Perhaps some sightseeing around the lovely city wouldn't go amiss – it was a good way as any to spend one's potential last hours.

* * *

"You know," began Rufus as the group strolled down one of Dipan's beautifully paved streets, "it _has_ struck me as odd that you've been reported dead when you are living and breathing right in front of me. I don't see a reason why Dipan has to be bereaved of its princess, but I obviously don't have the whole picture."

Alicia sighed heavily. "It's a long story."

He pointed to the sun, which was in its overhead position at noon. "We aren't in any particular hurry, are we?"

"Alright, then." She paused in her step, causing her two male companions to huddle around her. "As you already know, both Silmeria and I are incarnated into the same body. She first awoke when I was very young, and started speaking to me from then on. She would tell me many things about the world of Asgard and Midgard, and I would speak back to her. Although I could hear her clearly in my mind, I found it easier to pretend that she was there beside me, as though I were talking to her in the flesh. It made her feel more… real.

"Of course, since nobody could see or hear who I shared my frequent conversations with, and only saw me talking to the air, they thought me insane or possibly demon-possessed." Rufus grimaced at that; he was guilty of doing the same. "It was a disgrace to have a child of such unsound mind in the royal family, so they proclaimed me dead, passed from some unknown illness, and sent me away to a faraway estate."

Her voice trembled ever so slightly towards the end, and he could clearly recognize pain in her eyes. Sympathy – or empathy, rather – came to him readily. Growing up amongst elves who reviled man no less than any abomination that spawned from mingling with their kind, he knew only too well what it felt like to be alienated and despised.

"If your family hated you so much that they would proclaim you dead and send you away," he said roughly, "why return to them?"

"Because," here, Alicia's tone took on a steadfastness that Rufus did not understand, would never understand until he learned its reason for himself, "they're my family. Nothing will ever change that." Her mouth tightened. "And I have urgent news to bring to my father. News that threatens the kingdom of Dipan."

"I've been meaning to ask about that, too. All I know from the rumours is that Dipan is intending to rebel against the gods. Even if those rumours are true, I have a feeling that something else is afoot, here."

Dylan replied in Alicia's stead. "The law of the gods states that not more than one valkyrie is meant to exist upon Midgard at any given time. As Hrist is the valkyrie representative of this era, Silmeria's presence here violates that law. The gods, they have no respect for mortals. Rebellious intentions or no, they will smite the nation of Dipan simply to lure princess Alicia – Silmeria's host – into the open. Should her mortal vessel be disposed of, Silmeria would then have no choice but to return to Asgard."

"Hrist has been charged with these tasks," added Silmeria, who had taken hold of Alicia's body all of a sudden. "She is pursuing us even as we speak."

If Rufus thought that his opinion of the gods couldn't possibly worsen any further, he was sorely mistaken. Were they so devoid of mercy that they would destroy an entire nation, uncaring of the thousands forced into destitution and homelessness, just to retrieve their vagrant valkyrie's soul? Well, it shouldn't be any more than he expected, really. His own fate was telling enough of how little they concerned themselves with the lives of mortals.

And what about Alicia – timid, meek little Alicia whom he had barely gotten to know? They would be brushing her off as though she were nothing more than an inconsequential fly.

"Hrist has been sent to kill Alicia." It was not a question.

Silmeria nodded grimly. "Indeed. The cancellation of the liner services – or the mysterious 'pirate' incident, as popularized by the public – was her doing. So intent in stopping us from reaching Dipan was she, that she would willingly kill innocent bystanders to do so." Her voice hardened to a diamond's edge. "She would no more spare Alicia."

Rufus barely felt the bite of his fingernails as his hands clenched into fists. It was bad enough when he believed himself to be lone victim of the gods' callous whims; he could not, in all good conscience, allow another to suffer their injustice. Not while he still had a hand in the matter.

"Well, me and Dylan aren't gonna let that happen!" he declared fiercely.

Prompted by Silmeria, the corners of Alicia's lips lifted in a smile. It was different to Alicia's own smile, empty of the sweet innocence that characterised the princess, but the sentiment behind it was no less genuine.

"I'm glad to know that you take your duty as our escort seriously, Sir Rufus."

* * *

Night arrived without further drama, blanketing the city of Dipan in velvet indigo. As the magic streetlamps flicked on one by one, a princess, her knight and a half-elf made their clandestine way to the city sewers, where a passageway into the castle known only to those of royal attendance awaited them. The excursion was – to everyone's surprise but the knight's – not overly unpleasant, for the flooded pathways were purified by magic, making waterlogged boots the main issue. (That was, unless one were squeamish enough to be spooked by the sight of scuttling rats, which the princess thankfully was not.)

Not an hour's quarter had passed before the group found themselves within the magnificent hallways of Dipan castle. Polished marble tiles comprised the floor, laid over at frequent intervals with luxurious red carpet. The supporting pillars, which themselves held elaborate carvings of war and glory, fanned out into the gilt, arched ceiling. At this time of the night, the candles on the silvered stands were lit, illuminating the air around them in spheres of flickering, orange light.

It was every bit as grandiose as any royal castle ought to be, thought Rufus, who could not help but admire the gaudy evidence of the nation's wealth and prosperity. Even so, there was something cold and forbidding about the place, as though life was but a spectre that chose only occasionally to haunt its corridors.

"According to what we've heard," he said, revisiting the exploits of their venture around town, "the king hasn't disclosed any of his plans – whatever they may be – to the public. However, there have been a suspiciously large number of steel imports from Villnore – at least, until Hrist decided to hijack the ships."

"Villnore steel is reputed to be the finest in all of Midgard," supplied Dylan, "and would not be squandered on anything than the best of armaments. It appears that war is high on the king's list of priorities. Whether it is against man or against the gods, that remains to be seen."

Rufus placed his hands on his hips. "I suppose our speculations will only be confirmed by the king himself. It's too bad he won't grant us an audience. And it's not like we could just rifle through the whole castle to find him, either. So, Silmeria," he turned in Alicia's direction, believing the valkyrie to be currently in residence, "what do you suggest?"

She shook her head, and it was the higher-pitched voice of the princess that responded. "She's not answering me."

"Great," huffed Rufus, annoyed with the valkyrie's tendency to appear and disappear as she wished. "Just when we need her."

"Perhaps she's sensed Hrist," offered Dylan reasonably, "and concealed herself. Being part of a trinity, valkyries are able to detect each other's presence."

"She's hiding so that Hrist'll have a harder time finding us, yeah, I get it." Rufus let out a great sigh of frustration. "You know, Alicia, this'll be so much easier if you had just _one_ loyal servant in the castle –"

"But there _is_ one," interrupted Alicia, her eyes growing wide in realization. "Dallas."

"Who's that?"

She clapped her hands together excitedly. "If Dallas were here! He's a childhood friend. I heard he became one of the Three Mages."

"Who're the Three Mages?"

"They conduct research to aid Dipan's advances in magical technology, and are also close advisors of the king."

"Do you think they'll know what the king's plans are?"

"We can go ask Dallas, I'm sure he wouldn't mind telling us." Her shining eyes spoke all too plainly of her trust in her friend, but somehow Rufus wasn't so sure. "As to where he might be, I've heard that the Three Mages' laboratory is underground. I've never actually been down there, however."

Dylan moved forward to assume the lead, his heavy step making only a muted thud on the carpeted floor. "I remember underground chambers. Only, back then, they were used as dungeons. Let's go."

* * *

The castle proved to be emptier than expected, bearing not the slightest evidence of even a servant assigned cleaning duty. While this relaxed the laborious task of proceeding with stealth somewhat, this lack of personnel perturbed Rufus. No place so iconic, so central to the heart of the nation ought be this empty. There was something going on around here, and that something was not pretty.

Indeed, no sooner had they reached the stairway leading to the bowels of the castle that a spine-chilling growl could be heard. Rufus' hand instinctively flew to his bow; Dylan had also unloaded his monster of a blade from its back harness, and was holding it menacingly before him. The only one unarmed was the princess, who was apparently too stunned by the sight in front of her to draw her sword.

With the crackle of bone grating against bone, a legion of skeletal soldiers (one, two, three; Rufus stopped counting after twelve) ascended from the depths. They appeared no different to the ones encountered in the Lost Forest, except that they wielded swords – or more likely, sharpened pieces of bone – instead of spears. However swiftly he and Alicia were capable of dispatching individual skeletons back then, it did not ensure their victory here, for the fact remained that they were largely outnumbered.

"I hate to break it to you," he declared to Alicia, stringing an arrow to his bow at the same time, "but I'll say that Dipan is really keeping pet monsters!"

Alicia shook her head frantically in denial. "No! This can't be -! Oh, Father…"

Rufus was too busy selecting a target to care about her poorly-timed emotional breakdown. The first arrow whizzed through the air, striking a skeleton between the eyes, and the battle began in earnest.

* * *

They emerged from the aforementioned battle the worse for wear, but blissfully alive. The prospects were particularly grim for Rufus, whose shooting was severely handicapped by the narrow channels and steep angled turns of the catacombs; undoubtedly his newly-purchased dagger (which he had the foresight to obtain while in town) saw more use than his bow throughout the fight. In the end, it was Dylan's immense strength that saved them; he had single-handedly sheared through a horde of at least eight skeletons to reach Rufus' and Alicia's corner, where they lay fending for their lives after being unexpectedly trapped.

Having miraculously avoided injury, Alicia now applied herself to tending Dylan, smearing the effervescent green liquid of their curative potions over his many wounds before bandaging them.

"Thank you, Dylan," she murmured while dabbing at a nasty gash across the warrior's cheek. "I don't know how we could have survived that without your help."

"You're welcome, princess." Dylan gave a wry smile that turned out to be more of a grimace, prompting Alicia to work with more urgency. "Were it not for truthfulness' sake, I would even go as far to say that is my pleasure."

Had he not refused her to salvage what remained of his pride, Alicia would have tended to Rufus also. His wounds were nowhere near the severity of Dylan's, being but superficial cuts – nothing a single vial of potion wouldn't fix. It was enough that Alicia got her entertainment's worth by watching his face scrunch up at the unpleasant taste. However much he may long for it within the empty confines of his heart, he wasn't ready to be touched in any manner yet, and certainly not with the overwhelming gentleness of her hands.

To the relief of all present, proceedings went a little smoother after that. Although the monsters were as plentiful as ever, they came mostly in pairs or trios rather than an entire mob at once, allowing the group to pick them off as required. Navigating the maze of tunnels proved to be the primary concern, however, as many of the passages ended in cul-de-sacs. (At least they were mercifully well-lit, unlike the horrid underground path.) One in particular stood out to Rufus – it was a circular room with a sunken central platform surrounded by six stands, each supporting a glowing blue crystal. The air there positively brimmed with magic; it was probably a powerful device of some sort.

Eventually, the group arrived at what ostensibly looked like a storage laboratory, the manner of storage being in the form of cylindrical glass tanks and open, oblong boxes large enough to fit a person. The combined sounds of running machinery and seeping gas filled the air, loud enough to override the constant _plip-plop_ of water that dripped from the ceiling. There was also a sharp, organic scent lingering about the place; it reminded Rufus unpleasantly of blood.

No doubt mesmerized by the object suspended in glowing blue-green liquid within one of the tanks, Alicia approached it, splaying her fingers against the glass with childlike fascination. She stumbled backwards abruptly when it became apparent that the floating object was not any ordinary object, but in fact, a disembodied animal part.

Rufus, who was sturdier of composure but no less apprehensive of their increasingly eerie surroundings, glanced at the oblong boxes arranged in parallel series along the walls. It came to mind that they highly resembled…

"Coffins?" he pondered aloud. "No, I don't think so."

Wary of what he would encounter, he strode up to inspect the contents of one, and leapt backwards in shock when he recognized the bony remains within to be that of a human skeleton.

"The monsters we just fought… Looks like they were growing them in here – from human corpses." He couldn't help the shakiness of his voice.

All this – the castle's sinisterly empty hallways, the frantic battle for their lives, the horrifying realization that her beloved nation had betrayed her by growing these monstrosities in secret – turned out to be too much for the princess to handle. With a low moan of despair, she hunched over and pressed her hands to her eyes, rocking to and fro all the while. The sight of her so utterly devastated wrenched at Rufus' heart, and he started towards her helplessly, compelled to comfort her but not knowing how.

Before he could so much as take a few steps in her direction, however, a tremor powerful enough to knock him off his feet shook the ground, alerting him and the others to the unwelcome presence of another. Clambering to an upright position, Rufus turned around to see a gigantic, leafless plant, if one could call it that. Its body sufficiently resembled a trunk, he supposed, being long and cylindrical. Root-like stubs protruded from its legless base, and a deformed head sat atop its shoulders, which boasted two pairs of fiendishly long, thorny arms. To complete its already unsightly appearance, it was coloured in a nauseating shade of brownish-grey, making it without question the ugliest creature he had ever laid eyes upon.

While said ugliness would have given another ample reason to look elsewhere, Dylan gazed up at it instead, an entranced expression on his face. Rufus, noticing this, blurted, "What, is he a friend of yours?"

Although his tone was incredulous, he inwardly hoped that his words were true. If communication with this hideously malformed creature was possible, then perhaps they could negotiate a truce. He didn't want to have to fight again, not after he had come so perilously close to losing his life in their previous battle with the skeletons.

Dylan nodded in affirmation. "Apparently. This voice… Am I the only one who can hear it? The king, Barbarossa, has driven him to despair."

"We don't work for the king!" exclaimed Rufus impatiently. "Tell him that!"

His hopes were summarily dashed when the creature swung its arms around wildly, rendering sizable cracks into the glass of numerous tanks and causing blue-green liquid to gush out onto the floor.

"Great. Nobody listens."

With an exaggerated sigh, Rufus reached around for his bow and readied an arrow, his target a melon-sized, unblinking black eye.

* * *

A/N: Long, filler chapter. A lot of dialogue, little action. I'll reserve the battle scenes for later.

The first section isn't part of the in-game dialogue, but something I dredged up myself for the sake of my own amusement and to rectify Rufus' lack of knowledge about certain events – which is not addressed in the game due to the player already having the big picture courtesy of the omniscient perspective. I do believe I shall be incorporating a fair number of such scenes in the chapters ahead.

Yes, I am aware that I have made a geographical mistake by stating that Dipan lies on the northernmost peninsula instead of an island. I feel that this mistake is better left as is – the idea of constructing a tunnel under the ocean using nothing more than medieval technology (even with the bonus of magics) is quite absurd.


	5. Thy Ill Will Unveiled

**Chapter 2 – Darkness in Dipan**

**Part V: Thy Ill Will Unveiled**

The battle ended with unexpected haste, and on an entirely unexpected note.

Compelled by its nature, the plant-like creature indeed fought them, but without the single-minded ruthlessness of their previous enemies. Instead, its flailing arms cleared their heads by a wide berth, which was not – as he discovered in the aftermath – an indication of its inaccuracy, but rather a calculated attempt to provoke their retaliation. For retaliate they did. Rufus' arrow was unrelenting as it struck the creature in the eye, causing unmentionable fluids to spurt forth and wringing an all-too-human shriek from behind inhuman lips.

Maintaining its semblance of aggression, the creature hurled a volley of foul-smelling projectiles in their direction next. Although said projectiles landed a little closer to home this time, they still veered off widely enough to be construed as a deliberate miss. Rufus' answering attack was no less deliberate, but instead of missing, the helical wave of blue energy he unleashed smashed directly into the creature's lower torso, knocking it off-balance. Dylan, who had bravely charged the creature, then followed up with an upward swing of his gargantuan blade, hacking off several root-like feet in the process.

The creature had toppled forward onto its arms then, which were hurriedly braced against the ground to keep it from falling entirely. Alicia and Dylan wasted no time in taking advantage of its collapsed position, rushing up to shear off its limbs at the shoulder. With an almighty splash, the creature's unsupported body crashed onto the flooded floor, sending blue-green liquid spraying in every direction. It was utterly defenceless now, its only means of getting up removed, and could do no more than stare up pitifully at its adversaries with its remaining eye.

Truth be told, it hadn't even been a battle. It was a suicide, wholly and unequivocally.

When Dylan dealt the finishing blow, the creature had surrendered to it unhesitatingly, as though it longed for death. Its single eye, Rufus swore, had reflected a decidedly human sense of calm before it fluttered shut for the last time.

Now, gazing upon the smouldering remains that already began to decompose, Rufus was consumed with horror. For it was clear – painfully so – that this creature had once been a person. They once had a name; perhaps they even had a family, or an esteemed reputation, or monetary wealth, but most assuredly, they had a person's hopes and dreams. All those had been destroyed when they were taken to this laboratory – willingly, Rufus very much doubted it – and transformed to something that was not only unbearable to behold, but also capable of little else than destruction.

Worse yet, instead of succumbing to the state of mindless bloodlust that typified undead, they had maintained vestiges of their former mind. As such, they had been forced to acknowledge the fact that they themself were this abomination, that they saw through its inhuman eyes and breathed through its inhuman gills. They had been forced to carry on its hideous half-life – one so hideous, in fact, that they would rather embrace oblivion than endure, and so pandered to the first that offered them that blessed release.

It made Rufus wonder, how many other creatures had suffered a fate as unfortunate as the one that had just been slain, seeking relief only in the void of death? What kind of sick person did this to others, warping them into monsters without at least granting them the reprieve of removed self-awareness?

And even if they did remove their victims' self-awareness, what gave them the right to treat their fellow humans so cavalierly in the first place? Those skeletons they had previously fought, were they not also people once, and led ordinary people's lives? Just because those lives would be lost along with their minds in the transformation process, did it justify their sacrifice to this heinous experimentation?

It was pain that finally disengaged Rufus from his musings; his hands had unconsciously curled into fists, pressing his nails so hard into his palm that they nearly broke the skin. Unclenching them with a sigh, he turned to face Alicia. Her expression, he saw, was stricken, as though she realized the same thing he had just a moment ago.

"We killed… What we just killed was…"

She was unable to finish her sentence, but she didn't have to. Dylan answered well enough for all of them as he walked up to the creature's remains, laying down his sword in front of it. He then descended onto one knee, all the while pressing his right fist to his left shoulder in an odd kind of salute.

"Fellow denizen of Dipan," he intoned, a sombre expression on his normally stoic face, "we thereby grant you rest. May your next life be a happier one."

After making the necessary readjustments to their equipment, the group pushed open the doors to the next chamber, anticipating the worst to come. Yet, forever etched into their memory was a particular shade of blue-green, the colour splashed across the room where too many an unspeakable atrocity had been committed.

* * *

Muted candlelight greeted their eyes as they entered what would have been a library, were it not for the laboratory paraphernalia strewn about the numerous workbenches. Within their glass receptacles set by positioning apparatuses to hover over a flame, sit in a bucket of ice, or undergo some alchemical process unknown to Rufus, brightly coloured liquids simmered, cooled and did whatever else brightly coloured liquids were meant to do. Tomes of all shapes and sizes crammed the shelves that spanned upwards to the ceiling, filling the air with the scents of aged parchment and equally aged leather. It made for a rather cosy setting overall, unlike the visceral starkness of the storage tanks and coffin-like containers they had just left behind.

Of course, Rufus knew perfectly well how innocuous appearances were capable of hiding nasty surprises, and picked his way across the room with apprehensive steps.

It seemed that they were not alone. Hunched over a desk in the corner, a figure in a set of expensive, intricately embroidered robes could be seen. He – the cut of the robes left little doubt as to the gender of its wearer – appeared to be scribbling away in a journal, his quill waving animatedly as his hand darted back and forth between his current page and a nearby inkpot.

"Dallas?" Alicia's voice, high-pitched and tentative, called out to him.

The robed man visibly started at the name, dropping his quill and causing ink to splatter across the page of his journal. When he rose from his seat and turned around to face them, Rufus saw – with some surprise – that his rather handsome face was young, barely older than Rufus' himself. (While this made sense in accordance with his being Alicia's childhood friend, Rufus had a tendency to think of mages as old geezers.) His chestnut-brown hair fell fashionably into his eyes, which reflected a preternatural knowledge of subjects better left unknown in their hazel depths. Slight of height and build, he was surely no melee combatant, meaning that, if need be, either Rufus or Dylan could easily overpower him at this close range before he even got a chance to dispense one of his magicks.

Not that violent intervention of any sort was necessary – it quickly transpired that the mage was a pathetic, cringing coward.

"Dallas, it _is_ you, isn't it?" Alicia approached him hesitantly.

"Alicia?" His eyes darted from her to Dylan and Rufus, both of whom he seemed to have just taken notice of, and back again. "What are you doing here? This is no place for you. You must leave right away."

"But I can't, not without seeing Father," the princess insisted, pressing her hands together agitatedly. "I have important news to tell him."

His already pale complexion paled still further at her refusal. "Please, Alicia, just go –"

"It's too late, you know," interjected Rufus, his neutral tone belying the dangerous anger underneath. "We've figured out what you've been up to in the laboratory."

When Dallas neither challenged nor confirmed Rufus' claim, but simply looked at him questioningly, he felt what little control he had over his temper shatter. With the all-too-recent memory of how the creature had succumbed to Dylan's blade blazing in his mind, he marched up to Dallas, barely stopping himself short of seizing the mage's robes at the throat.

"Don't play innocent with me!" Rufus spat at Dallas, causing the mage to stumble backwards in fright. "You've been using human subjects to perform your damn experiments, haven't you? Do you completely lack a conscience?"

"Is it true, Dallas?" Alicia, who had moved forward to clutch at the mage's sleeve, looked into his eyes pleadingly. "That creature we fought in the laboratory… he was once human, wasn't he?"

At Alicia's words, a low, garbled noise escaped Dallas' throat – an unmistakeable sign of his guilt. She immediately let go of his sleeve and retreated back a few steps, accidentally bumping into a workbench in her haste to get away. Betrayal was evident in every part of her face, from the shine of her suddenly overbright eyes, to the 'o' of her parted lips.

"How could you do such a thing…?"

A lengthy silence followed, broken only by the harsh breathing of the room's inhabitants. Trying to quell his still simmering anger, Rufus looked around at the others as means of distraction. Dylan appeared to be least affected on the whole, having busied himself with some of the Mages' research papers. That horrible, betrayed expression yet to leave her face, Alicia stared at Dallas, who had cowered away from her and her accusatory gaze as much as he could while still being in their presence. He was truly pathetic.

It came as something of a relief when Dylan unexpectedly spoke up. "They have data on time," he said, tracing the script on a sheaf of parchment, "elves and the undead."

Rufus' eyes widened in unpleasant surprise. "Elves?"

"Even… the Dragon Orb," continued Dylan, the beginnings of horrified realization evident in his voice. Unlike Rufus, he had no reservations about stomping over to Dallas and yanking him up by the collar. "Isn't it despicable enough that you are experimenting on fellow human beings?" he yelled into the whimpering mage's face. "Is your lust for power so great that you must also play around with a treasure that was hidden to preserve Midgard's eternal peace? Should you continue any further in this vein, our world's annihilation will be on your hands!"

Due to the strain on his windpipe, all Dallas managed to get out was a strangled croak. Dylan promptly dropped him in disgust.

"It's true, isn't it, Dallas –" Alicia began, but was immediately overridden by the commanding tones of her valkyrie counterpart, who had emerged all of a sudden. "Answer me! The Dragon Orb is one of the Four Treasures, and Odin seeks it as well!"

The mentioning of Odin's name instantly caught Rufus' attention. "What did you say?" he blurted, but nobody seemed to have heard him.

In the meantime, Dallas had sunk to his knees before Silmeria's unpitying gaze. "Forgive me, Alicia –"

"Just answer the question!" she interrupted him impatiently. "What is the king plotting?"

Hesitation was plain on the mage's face, but he eventually replied, "King Barbarossa seeks power that will allow him to oppose Odin. But you should know –"

He was again interrupted by the twin rumble of heavy double doors opening. Silhouetted by the dazzling glare of the lit chambers beyond, two robed men moved forward to stand before them, presumably the other two of the mage trio. The one on the right, dressed in robes of interweaving blacks and reds, was clearly the eldest, his seniority marking him as their leader. The other, whose receding hairline of flaxen hair did no favours by drawing emphasis to his squinty, rat-like eyes, was garbed in robes of purple and gold fabrics. Both wore disturbingly malicious grins.

The eldest spoke. "We swore to take the secrets of our research to our graves, Dallas." His voice was a deceptively mellow baritone, one that promised unpleasantness in the event where his authority should be undermined.

"Walther! Gyne!" Alicia, who had resumed control of herself, cried out at them in a audibly distressed tone. "You're my father's most trusted advisors, aren't you? How can you be doing this?"

Instead of replying, the two mages each stepped to their respective sides, making way for a newcomer to emerge from behind them. He was tall and large of build, his face creased with age but no less impressive for the authority it bore. A cloak of white ermine fur and gold filigree covered his broad shoulders, which, like the rest of his body, were outfitted in gilt ceremonial armour. Most notable of all, however, was the crown atop his head, marking him as King Barbarossa, the current ruler of Dipan.

Too many emotions crossed Alicia's face at once for Rufus to discern any of them. "Father!" She rushed up to him, arms open wide –

_Smack!_

– only to be forcefully slapped away, the impact of the blow sending her sprawling onto the flagstone floor. A pitiful whimper escaped from her; it reminded Rufus of a wounded animal.

The king paid no heed to the sound; his expression was one of outrage. "Insolence! How dare you touch me, you unruly wench?"

Having immediately rushed to her side, Dylan was now helping a shaky Alicia to her feet. Her eyes, like shattered blue glass, were almost unbearable to look at, shimmering with untold hurt and rejection. It made the blood in Rufus' veins boil; before he even realized what he was doing, he had glared up at the king with teeth recklessly bared.

"What kind of man are you, to do that to your own _daughter_?"

At Rufus' words, a strange light flitted through the king's eyes, but was gone in the next moment as his features contorted into fury. "My daughter is no more!" he thundered. "No one in this world has the right to call me Father!" He then raised a condemnatory index finger in the group's direction. "Now, to the dungeon with them!"

Obediently, the two mages moved towards Alicia, hands grasping, but were flung back by a mighty shove from the flat of Dylan's blade. Having already readied an arrow that threatened death to any who followed, Rufus then made his retreat with the others, stumbling through the door that took them back to the laboratory they were no less eager to leave just before.

* * *

As they were prudent enough to clear their route forward previously, no undead ambushed them in their return flight through the underground catacombs. (It was probably for this reason that the mages did not pursue them.) Nevertheless, a surprise of an entirely different sort awaited them at the stairway ascending back into the castle – a floating entity composed of light so brilliant that it blinded them, halting them in their tracks.

A woman's voice, imperious and royal-sounding, called out from it. "Silmeria, now do you see?"

The light dissipated, revealing the armoured figure of a war goddess. Said armour, overlaid in places with decorative gold strips and moulded to emphasise her feminine curves, was a hue of purple so dark that it was nearly black. For that matter, the plumes attached to the ear of her helmet were indeed black, as was the silky curtain of hair that spilled out from underneath them. Her appearance denoting her as no other than Hrist Valkyrie, she was the epitome of divine execution – beautiful, but infinitely cold. Untouchable.

She approached them with confident strides, causing the nearly diaphanous skirts that surrounded her legs to billow. "You needn't even encourage them," she said, stopping a few yards before Alicia – or rather, the valkyrie housed within her – whom she was obviously addressing. "Dipan is fully intent on fighting Lord Odin. They'll even use the Dragon Orb, a forbidden act."

But it was Alicia who cried out, her tone uncharacteristically forceful. "Yes! Forbidden for humans and gods alike –"

"Silence, mortal!" overrode the dark valkyrie, affronted. "You will speak when I ask you to! But if Silmeria refuses to respond, I have no choice." There was a metallic _zing_ as she drew from her hip scabbard a sword, the blade of which gleamed with celestial iridescence. Rufus' response was to reach for his bow; from the periphery of his vision, he saw Dylan unload his blade as well. "Sacrifice Dipan, or see all of Midgard annihilated. It's up to you." She pointed the tip of her sword between Alicia's eyes, eliciting a gasp from the princess.

When no immediate answer was forthcoming, Hrist took the opportunity to cast an appraising eye upon Alicia's escorts, who had surged forward to flank her. Rufus felt an unpleasant shiver take root from where her crimson gaze touched him; it was as though he had been prickled by thousands of icy needles.

"Hmm." Her tone was considering. "You are worthy indeed, mighty warriors. I will take all of you together with me to Valhalla."

Rufus snorted inwardly. To be offed in order to have bestowed upon him the dubious honour of venturing the halls of the gods as her einherjar lapdog? He'd rather remove his ring and let his soul burn away into nothingness, thank you very much. Before he could (very foolishly) express this sentiment, Silmeria spoke up, a steely edge replacing her normally husky timbre in the passion of defending her cause.

"Dipan does not fight because it wants to. Odin's tyranny leaves Dipan no choice but to take up arms!"

"Don't be a fool," countered Hrist. "You've been poisoned by mortal arrogance. The peace and prosperity of Midgard exists, because the gods wrought law upon the land!"

"I recognize the feats of the gods," persisted Silmeria, her voice rising higher with each word, "but that time has passed. I have not been poisoned! Now the gods have no regard for mortals, only taking whatever they please, and giving nothing in return! Humans do not need them! Had Odin but remained the compassionate king of old repute, he would still be worthy of their rule!"

The dark valkyrie brandished her sword violently. "Blasphemy! Mortals are no more than tools for the gods' use; why ought they deserve our consideration –"

"This was the very attitude that led me to renounce Odin in the first place!" Silmeria retorted. Had she something to thump her clenched fist against, she would have. "Humans are individuals as much as any god, and have as much a place in the realms! It is their suffering and discontentment that drives war. Were you only to open your eyes to this, you would understand!"

Hrist shook her head, visibly appalled. "Desist. Your priorities have been thrown into disarray by your love for these mortal insects. Our task, as valkyries, is to carry out the will of the gods. It appears you have forgotten this." Her red eyes narrowed decisively. "As such, I cannot allow you to roam freely any longer."

Just as she raised her sword to impart a killing blow to Alicia's vulnerable neck, Rufus loosed the arrow he had strung sometime during the valkyries' exchange, causing the sword to fly from her hand and skitter down the stairs in a series of metallic clatters. This time, it was Dylan's sword that was held up threateningly to the Hrist's neck; he had taken advantage of the momentary disorientation provided by Rufus' attack to cross the small distance between himself and the dark valkyrie.

Hrist merely blinked, unfazed. "Perhaps I had underestimated you," she said, her gaze remaining fixed upon Silmeria's, as though the precariously close edge of Dylan's blade presented no threat. "But in the end, you stand to gain nothing from this."

With only the wake of sparkling purple motes to indicate her departure, she promptly vanished into thin air.

* * *

Unfortunately, it transpired that the encounter with Hrist had cost the group what precious time they needed for a successful escape. As they sprinted back into the main hallway of the castle, one mere corridor away from the secret passageway that would take them into the sewers and to safety, a stampede of metallic footfalls could be heard approaching them from behind. Rufus didn't need to turn around to know that an entire horde of castle guards had suddenly appeared out of nowhere and taken up pursuit; all that mattered was reaching the sewers. The guards' steel greaves, once waterlogged, would sink into the flooded aisles and impede further movement; they could surely lose them there –

That plan was abruptly cut short as the doors ahead of them flung open only to reveal more castle guards. They, in synchronised coordination with their fellows at the back, immediately fanned outwards to encircle the group. There was not a gap in their ranks that allowed for even the slimmest of breakouts; Alicia, Dylan and Rufus were completely and utterly surrounded.

"Why the long face, my dear princess?" came the mocking drawl of the eldest mage, whom Alicia had previously named 'Walther'. "You'll just have to sit tight for a spell, while we… _finish_ our research."

He and the flaxen-haired mage, Gyne, were admitted into the group's midst from outside. Terrifying could hardly begin to describe the expression on their age-crinkled faces – it was a mixture of triumph, malevolence and gleeful anticipation.

Gyne cackled unpleasantly. "But it's straight to the guillotine for you two!" His gloved finger, raised in Dylan's and Rufus' direction, left no doubt as to who he meant.

Without preamble, they lunged towards a wide-eyed Alicia with hands outstretched – or rather, attempted to. Once again, the flat of Dylan's blade made contact with their midsections, sending them off in a collision course with the armoured guard barricade. They crumpled in a heap of dishevelled robes, although the guards remained – courtesy of their armour – unsurprisingly intact.

"You won't hurt her!" yelled the warrior, assuming a stance with his blade held menacingly high.

Rufus, on Alicia's other side, strung three arrows to his bow simultaneously. "Back off!" he barked at the guards there, who had, in the disarray, stepped forward towards them.

Hopelessly outnumbered, all the group could do was fend off the increasingly overwhelming tide of opponents in a last ditch attempt at standing ground. In the seconds before everything descended into chaos, a fleeting thought – that this was not how he had foreseen his end – occurred to Rufus. Would he die here, felled by an unknown soldier's blade? Or would he be captured and taken to the execution grounds, publically humiliated before succumbing to the bloodstained edge of the guillotine's blade?

Then the familiar instinct of fighting took over. Back to back with Dylan, Rufus geared up to what promised to be a painful, losing battle. He had only let fly a couple of his lightning-infused arrows, however, when –

"_Wings of providence, carry me to safety!_"

– a circular glyph materialized beneath the group's feet without so much as a warning, encapsulating them within a blinding wall of light. The unearthly tingle of powerful, invoked magic was everywhere, consuming all of Rufus' senses; it crept under his skin and set every unbound hair on end. It pervaded his nostrils, his mouth; odourless and tasteless though it be, it burned down his lungs with the ferocity of acid, making breathing torturously difficult. His ears were ringing with a continuous high-pitched, silvery whine; his eyes could not see anything but the blaze that grew ever brighter before him –

Everything went white.

* * *

A/N: That was an unexpected spin I put on the portrayal of the hated Primordial Ooze, wasn't it? I've always wondered about why Alicia went about saying the line to Dallas in Chapter 4, 'My father sacrificed all those innocent lives just to complete that shameful research' with so much horror and disgust, when the game makes no (solid) reference as to what elicited said emotion. So here is my take on it.

And I have yet to figure out why Barbarossa denied the existence of his daughter in that scene. It is simply incomprehensible to me. (Any explanations are, of course, welcome.) Everyone present knows that she is his daughter; he has no secret to hide where their relatedness is concerned.

Farming for Ether Crowns with the Seraphic Gate versions of Walther and Gyne was a teeth-grindingly nuisance, so I decided to have Dylan whack them – both in the scene with the king and the endscene. XD

And last but not least, I forgot the colour of Dallas' eyes, and so listed them as hazel. An inconsequential detail. Even if they are canonically blue, I don't care.


	6. Serendipitous Saviour

**Chapter 2 – Darkness in Dipan**

**Part VI: Serendipitous Saviour**

Suffice it to say that Rufus' first impression of Lezard Valeth was not a good one.

His extravagantly courtly mannerisms aside – which only irked Rufus the more for their pretentiousness – there was something about the mage that earned his immediate dislike. Perhaps it had to do with the air of condescending superiority that radiated from him, or the calculating way he would push up his glasses, or the subtle but inexorable manner in which he would divert all attention onto Silmeria as though neither Rufus, Dylan nor even Alicia were worthy of his notice. At any rate, he was part of their travelling party now, even if Rufus had no intention of associating with him any more than was necessary.

As to how their encounter took place:

The ground felt firm. That was the only thing that registered in Rufus' thoroughly disorientated mind at the moment. Perhaps said firmness was more the sort of well-packed soil rather than stone pavement (or marble tiles) – not that Rufus was, of course, in any mental state to concern himself with details as inconsequential as those. After all, the importance of being alive enough to feel the ground beneath him in the first place overruled that of ascertaining their location (on the basis of the ground's firmness, no less).

Much to his chagrin, his other senses returned to him with excruciating slowness. First was hearing; borne on the ambient air, the naturalistic symphony of trickling water and rustling leaves sounded in his ears. Smells filtered across to his olfactory senses next, each inhalation bringing in the primordial richness of damp earth and the spice of sapwood. His eyes, however, recalled only the glaring whiteness that had overtaken them in the moments prior, and it took what seemed like ages for the afterimage to clear sufficiently before he could discern what was in front of him.

Which was the shadowed outline of a low-heeled woman's shoe – Alicia's. They had been spared the trouble of being accidentally separated, then.

Groaning, he shifted from his sprawled position on the ground into an upright one. It appeared that all limbs were accounted for and in proper functioning order. The digits, too (as was evinced by an experimental wriggle). Good.

Then the shoe before him moved, and its owner's groggy voice filled the air. "Where are we?"

Rufus cast a quick glance at his surroundings. The sight that greeted him was distinctly familiar – a stream dividing the moonlit halves of a forest clearing. Within its pebbled shallows sat a large rock, one that once served to prop up an old, wizened staff, if memory served him correctly. And sure enough, the cavernous entrance to the royal underground path gaped back at him from a nearby cliff face, confirming without doubt that they were indeed where he thought they were.

"In the Lost Forest, that much is certain. I'd say the question at hand is: what the Hel just happened?"

Dylan, who had already gotten to his feet at Rufus' other side, inclined his head in the direction he was facing. "Our rescuer, over there, should know."

"Oh?"

Rising to his feet, Rufus followed Dylan's gaze to a spot several yards apart from them, where their so-called rescuer descended to one knee in a billow of robes. (The colour of said robes was too dark to be readily discernible in the moonlight.)

"It was a teleportation spell, gentlemen, princess Alicia," he spoke in a rather nasal voice. His articulation was crisp and precise, indicative of a scholarly upbringing. "I beg your pardon; I had no choice but to resort to such crude methods. I confess the ah – _sensation_ does take some getting used to."

Standing up alongside Rufus, Alicia brushed down the front of her skirt self-consciously. "And you are?"

"Lezard," replied the stranger. He looked up, revealing neatly parted hair trimmed to his ears and steel-framed spectacles. His chin, Rufus decided, was unflatteringly weedy. "Lezard Valeth, at your service. I have been assisting the Three Mages in their research, as an apprentice."

Alicia's expression was one of polite befuddlement. "I'm sorry, but why did you rescue us?" she asked.

"I thought you, princess, could put a stop to the king's dangerous research."

From the excessively ingratiating manner in which he said it, Rufus doubted that the apprentice mage's intentions were quite so virtuous, but any further contemplation on the matter was drowned out by Alicia's words and the response they elicited.

"Could you tell me more about this… dangerous research?"

Lezard adjusted his glasses. When he spoke, his voice was filled with what sounded suspiciously like awe, as though the research he had just professed an interest in bringing to termination enthralled him.

"The king… is seeking to transcend this mortal coil by creating a closed timeline. A new world tree stemming from neither the heavens, the underworld, nor the world of mortals. In other words, independence from the Gods."

"That is beyond transcendence," said Silmeria, who had no doubt been roused by such iconoclastic talk. "What he seeks is a power possessed by Odin alone. Is that why they need the Dragon Orb?"

"That was their conclusion, following countless failed experiments on elves and the undead."

Unbidden, the image of human skeletons and disembodied body parts suspended in blue-green liquid arose in Rufus' mind. He cursed under his breath.

"So Dipan alone would break free of the laws of nature and enjoy eternal prosperity." Silmeria's words were lightly inflected as to convey her incredulity.

Lezard nodded. "I myself found it absurd," here, he paused to give emphasis to the title, "Lady Silmeria Valkyrie."

While Rufus would have recoiled in shock, the only sign of Silmeria's surprise was a brief flutter of eyelashes. Did all goddesses have nerves of steel? "So you know of me."

"Just what Dallas told me," said Lezard by way of explanation, bowing his head with what Rufus deemed to be unnecessary obsequiousness.

Her momentary unsettlement with Lezard's knowledge of her identity already forgotten, Silmeria went on, "It is said, the Dragon Orb has enough power to set the whole world aflame. Even gods are powerless before it." She tapped a finger against the plump silhouette of Alicia's lips. "The king's plan may be feasible."

However conversational a manner in which Silmeria had delivered her last statement, it caused Dylan to twitch violently in her direction. "You're not thinking of finding the orb for Dipan, are you?" he demanded, his incredulous tone stating all too plainly what he thought on that matter.

"For Dipan?" She shook her head. "No. For all Midgard. I will find the orb, and Alicia shall be its guardian." She turned to Lezard. "That would put an end to the king's dangerous research, would it not, Sir Lezard?"

The mage flourished his arm in yet another ostentatious bow. "You are everything I had hoped you would be."

Evidently torn between his loyalties to his country and the valkyrie he served, Dylan caught Silmeria's gaze once more, his heavy brows knitted. "The oath I swore to Dipan still holds." There was a note of some unknown emotion in his voice – something too impassioned to be called hesitancy, too rough to be called pleading.

In response, Silmeria laid a delicate hand on his armoured forearm. "Be at ease, Dylan," she said in soothing tones. "I am not asking for you to turn your back on your homeland. In that respect, I have already asked enough of you. No, this is something I had considered from the beginning, since Odin sought the orb for his own selfish purposes."

Seemingly placated, Dylan nodded in reply. Rufus had the distinct impression that something beyond words had just passed between them, although what exactly, he had yet to determine (and probably never would).

The sudden emergence of Alicia's girlish soprano interrupted that train of thought. "We'll need everyone's strength to get through this," she said to all present, clasping her hands together in her characteristic gesture of sincerity. "I'm counting on you all."

"Let us then depart the forest for Coriander before pursuit draws near." Lezard trailed an ushering hand into the trees.

"Is that where we'll find the Dragon Orb?" asked Alicia.

The mage gave a prim little nod. "It was the last recorded sanctuary of the orb."

* * *

Having established their latest course of action, the group was now proceeding single-file through the grassy trail that would take them to the western edge of the forest (and back to Solde). With torch in hand, Alicia assumed the lead, guided once again by her mysterious sense of direction. Ever the gallant knight to his princess, Dylan followed closely on her heels, his gargantuan blade on the ready to dismember anything foolish enough to pose a threat to her. Next was Lezard in third rank, which left he, Rufus, to cover the rear (and oh-so-surreptitiously keep the mage within his field of vision. While he doubted Lezard would do anything suspect, it would at least quell the inexplicable urge to shiver whenever those bespectacled eyes fell upon him.)

Concentration was proving difficult, however. He was running on dry reserves by now, having long expended the rush of adrenaline prompted by their flight from Dipan castle. (And if the moon's overhead position was any indication, the hour was well past that of his bedtime.) Therefore, when two wraiths shuffled into their path from the shadows, his immediate response was to heave a breath of equal parts weariness and exasperation. Alicia's sigh told him that she felt no differently, but before she could so much as grasp the hilt of her sword, a gloved hand forestalled her.

"No, please allow me."

Lezard stepped forward as twin whirlwinds of mist sprang up around the wraiths, dissipating a moment later to reveal two skeletal soldiers. A flick of their bony wrists brought their spears into attacking range, a sure cause for – if not concern, caution at the very least. But Lezard dared – actually dared! – to spread his arms wide as though making a parody of the defenceless gesture; were it not for the confident smirk playing about his lips, Rufus would have thought him suicidal.

"You pitiable creatures actually dare to stand against me?" he taunted, giving an unpleasant laugh that made the hairs at the back of Rufus' neck stand on end. "The folly."

With only Alicia's shriek of alarm to precede their sudden movement, the skeletons lunged towards Lezard, spears raised. They had only managed a total of three steps, however, when the air around them exploded in a spectacular blast of magical fire, causing fragments of sizzling bone to scatter in every direction. Some fell onto the nearby underbrush and set it alight, starting up an array of miniature fires. For a brief moment, panic flashed through Rufus' mind – what if they combined into an uncontrollable inferno? But Lezard, who had the audacity to pause at each one with a curious eye, simply extinguished them with a snap of his fingers.

"Perhaps I overdid it again…"

Despite his largely unfavourable opinion of Lezard, Rufus could not help but be slack-jawed with awe. Nothing but smouldering piles of ash remained of the skeletons; not a single bone had gone unscathed. Whatever spell-casting ability he had witnessed of the few mages encountered during his travels could not remotely compare to this – Lezard had obliterated in a single attack what another would have done in a minimum of three.

The realization that they had a very powerful ally in their midst came not without dread. If Lezard were indeed a mere apprentice of the Three Mages as he had claimed, Rufus shuddered to think what the powers of said Three Mages would be like. No doubt Dipan's military might – and subsequent sovereignty over Midgard – stemmed from their research; with destructive power as awe-inspiring as the likes of what he had just seen at their disposal, it was unsurprising that no other nation wished to contest with them.

Snapping out of his musings, Rufus saw that Lezard had, in the meantime, busied himself with another spell. A glyph spanning some four yards wide shimmered at their feet; again, Rufus felt the unearthly tingle of magic, but it was much fainter this time.

"What are you doing?"

"Using the remains of the monsters to cast a protective ward," came the mage's distracted reply. He shifted his hands, prompting the glyph to sink into the earth, where it spread across the forest floor in a rapidly expanding network of white tendrils. "No more shall disturb us from herein." He dusted his gloved hands in satisfaction, and turned to face the group. "Speaking of which, I believe we're safe now. Shall we adjourn here until the morrow?"

Dylan returned his sword to its harness on his back. "What makes you think we're safe?"

"In addition to the ward, I had also cast a force field around our region of the forest. Even were Walther to follow us by teleportation, he would be unable to follow us here."

"Why couldn't you have done this earlier?" grumbled Rufus irritably. His exhaustion, which decided then to make its reappearance, caused his already slouching back to slouch further.

Lezard's expression was clearly patronizing in the flickering firelight of Alicia's torch. "The force field only operates outside of Dipan's territories – including the royal underground path – which have dispelling runes inscribed into their boundaries. I had to wait until we were far away enough."

"In that case, we should rest." Ostensibly worn out, Dylan nonetheless looked to Alicia for permission. She nodded unhesitatingly.

"I wouldn't mind resting."

After collecting the materials to assemble a campfire, the group settled down around its blazing perimeter in various positions of repose. The princess had elected to lean against the trunk of a nearby tree, while Dylan lay supine on the ground, accompanied by a sprawled-out Rufus. Lezard, who sat cross-legged at Alicia's other side without the slightest sign of tiredness, turned his bespectacled gaze onto her.

"You surprised me; I thought Silmeria was still with us."

Alicia obscured her yawn with a delicate hand. "She only comes out when we need her for object reading. Usually, it's just me." Her tone became apologetic. "I'm sorry. I wish I could be of more help."

"I beg your forgiveness," backpedalled Lezard hastily. "I never intended to insinuate such a thing. As one versed in the arcane, I am merely intrigued by two spirits sharing one body."

Tired though he was, the mage's sycophantic posturing – an obvious tactic to remain in Alicia's good books – grated on Rufus' nerves. "Sweet-talk all you want," he warned, though his words came out rather less sharply than he would have liked. "Silmeria can see right through it."

Lezard ignored him, the bastard. "So can object reading be used to read another's mind?"

"It is possible," Silmeria, who had seamlessly switched over with Alicia, answered. "If one has thoughts or feelings that are inseparably bound to another life, or memories of someone who has affected them deeply, then yes, I can read those thoughts."

"Is that so? How fascinating." Lezard pushed up his glasses. "An experiment for another time, perhaps. I believe I have intruded upon your rest enough as is."

"Indeed."

"Shall I volunteer first watch, then? Though, I have no need for rest; we may set off as soon as the sun is high."

A weary nod was the only reply before Alicia's eyelids drooped shut. Rufus, feeling the same call of slumber weigh upon his own eyelids, followed suit. He did not dream.

* * *

They reached Solde by the mid-afternoon of the next day, unanimous vote dictating that the group recuperate overnight and set off afresh the following morn. After registering at the local inn and dividing the necessary chores amongst themselves, each member took to his or her separate way. Rufus had the local apothecary to concern himself with, being appointed the task of restocking their supply of medicines. Dylan, loaded with the group's motley assortment of armoured gear (most of which were his), had left for the blacksmith to perform the routine maintenance check-up. Lezard was off to brave the fishy marketplace for food rations (Rufus idly wondered how that serpentine tongue would hold up under bartering conditions).

As for the princess?

Observant of hierarchical precepts as always, Dylan had sought to free Alicia from any duty, as – to use his direct quotation – "one of Her Majesty's title ought not be reduced to such plebeian indignities". But Rufus had argued, and Alicia herself had taken his side (much to Dylan's scowling disgruntlement), insisting that she, as part of the group, should contribute in some meaningful way. (Lezard, the clever bastard, had very wisely kept his mouth shut during the entire discussion, and so avoided confrontation.)

At Alicia's command, Dylan had no choice but to oblige (grudgingly). Hence, after a shy demonstration or two, she became the group's unofficial clothes-mender. Who would have guessed that those soft, underworked fingers hid a veritable wealth of sewing talent? As the 'glory of combat' and other similar nonsense habitually left his attire in a state of tatters, Rufus was grateful he no longer had to visit the tailor (who would smirk wider with each additional rip and tear, and charge him exorbitant fees). Sadly enough, the option of taking matters into own hands was a no-go, for the one occasion he had tried resulted in a disaster of inextricably tangled proportions.

Anyway, back to the apothecary (in which Rufus was currently situated).

He found the dimly lit, low-ceilinged shop someplace along the main street alleyway. Fumes of all sorts permeated the air here, some intriguing, some foul, but the majority were unrecognizable. The shopkeeper, contrary to the warty and bulbous-nosed hag stereotype, was a solid-looking woman wrapped in uncountable layers of scarves and glittering jewellery. An unauthorized mystic practitioner on the side, probably. This line of profession had a reputation for being somewhat dodgy, after all.

She gave him an appraising once-over (or thrice-over, more like), her beady, kohl-lined eyes lingering on his ring in particular.

"How may I help you?" Her voice was sickeningly sweet.

Haggling with her proved to be as challenging a task as any – the woman certainly knew how to drive a hard bargain – but he eventually left with the requisite medicines (and a considerably lighter wallet). After ensuring that the numerous vials were properly tucked away into his rucksack, and deciding against returning to the inn (lest he spend more time than was required in Lezard's obnoxious company), he set off for the laundry pool to find Alicia.

As the explanation went, she had also offered to wash their clothes _on top_ of mending them. Where she had learned to do that, Rufus didn't know, as princesses – by popular opinion – tended to be exempt from common, domestic chores (such as washing).

The laundry pool itself was a waist-deep, rectangular depression in the corner of town, complete with grille drainage and influx in the form of a continuously spewing water pump. Upon the steps, noticeably apart from the gaggle of chattering townswomen, sat Alicia. A pile of neatly folded clothes lay in the wooden washbasin at her side; apparently she had already completed her task. As shocking as the sight of her exposed legs splayed across the stone pavement proved to be, it distracted him neither from the forlorn hunch of her back, nor the way her sand-blonde hair hung like a mourning veil over her head.

"Father…" Soft and tremulous like the flutter of sparrows' wings, Alicia's voice would have been all but impossible for human ears to pluck out from the surrounding din, but Rufus, of course, had the benefit of enhanced hearing. "He really does hate me, doesn't he?"

She must be conversing with Silmeria – not that anyone could hear the valkyrie, if the nearby women's bewildered glances in her direction were any indication. So, perhaps the motives behind her volunteering work were not quite as altruistic as he had previously assumed. Not that Rufus begrudged her any – it was clear she very much needed this time to herself, time to weep for the grievances the latest visit to her homeland had afflicted upon her.

Really, he should not be intruding upon her private moment. But try as he might, he was unable to move away. Never before had he bore witness to vulnerability as candid as hers, the anguish of her soul having consumed her so completely that she remained oblivious to all around her. It was captivating, holding him rapt not unlike the way an unfolding scene of destruction held a faraway spectator. It was beautiful; it was terrible.

She spoke again, her throat visibly working to emit even the quietest of susurrations.

"For the first time after all these long years, I finally get to see him… but then…"

There was a barely imperceptible hiccup, followed by a violent shake of the head that sent her sand-blonde locks into fluttering dishevelment. Rufus, who recalled only too clearly the ruthless way King Barbarossa had slapped away his daughter, felt anger broiling within him again.

"It's as I told you before, he wouldn't want to listen to anything I have to say."

She pulled up her bare knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. Her words, when next they came, were considerably more muffled; Rufus had to strain his ears to hear them.

"I was so foolish. Foolish to hope that he might just –" she choked over the next word, as though the mere act of speaking it costed her a terrible effort, "– _acknowledge_ me. Just something as simple as calling my name. It would've made me so happy."

Sniffling unmistakeably now, she rocked within the embrace of her own arms.

"It hurts, Silmeria. It _hurts_."

Seeing her like this, so startlingly small and miserable, made something clench in the vicinity of Rufus' chest. He understood all too well the pain of rejection – his wretched, involuntary status of social outcast was testament to that. Even so, his empathy for her was incomplete; the circumstances of his birth meant that he had had no father, nor even mother, to guide him into the world.

As his elfin _not_-kin constantly strove to remind him, all full-blooded elves were born female – theirs was a single-gender, parthenogenetic race. They needed no man to sow the seeds of their evergreen heritage, not when life itself came as the blessing of the world tree, Yggdrasil, bestowing upon the virgin womb a sliver of its infinite spirit.

Having inherited his alien maleness from his human side, Rufus was an aberration onto this sacred order of things. The ones who participated in his unholy creation – his parents – would be equally reviled; it was no wonder he had never heard of them.

Even so, curiosity would strike him every so often and leave him pondering as to their fates. Were they star-crossed lovers, sentenced to death for defiling the unwritten law that forbade the intermingling of divine and mortal lineages? Or were they mere tools – breeding stock to be cast aside once they had fulfilled their purpose of conceiving his chimerical flesh?

Nevertheless, it was something of a comfort to never truly know them, to be able to preserve the (rather macabre) belief that they had suffered as he did – mother, father and son united in their condemnation to the same horrible fate. Having no solid, tangible attachment to them, it was a simple matter to confine them to the realm of detached thought. Unlike Alicia, he never needed to confront the cruel reality – that someone so fundamental to his very existence had hated him.

Just as King Barbarossa had hated his own daughter.

And it was for this reason that he approached her with slow, tentative steps, intent on somehow improving her spirits (even if the process remained as infuriatingly elusive as ever). Making sure to leave a comfortable, albeit accessible gap between them, he settled himself (and his rucksack) at her side, eyeing her carefully. She did not show any sign of having noticed his presence, however.

His hand was already halfway to her shoulder before he withdrew it, thinking better of that action. They had been travelling companions – he dared not use the term 'friends' – for a scant few days, still too short a time to demonstrate such familiarity. Knowing no other compromise, he called her name.

"Alicia."

She jerked like a startled rabbit, raising her head from its position between her knees to see who had addressed her.

"R-Rufus. I wasn't expecting you."

The sight that greeted him was positively awful. Discoloured blotches had broken out on her nose and cheeks, and tears spilled uncontrollably from her red-rimmed eyes despite her valiant efforts to scrub them away. Overcome by pity, he secreted a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her in the universally gallant gesture of one in the presence of distressed female.

"Here."

"T-Thank you."

She blew into the unadorned piece of white cloth. Bereft of dignity as it was, the motion was astonishingly delicate.

"I a-apologize," she finally stammered after a moment, still dabbing at her eyes. "For h-having you see me l-like this."

He exhaled heavily. "You don't need to. It wasn't your fault in any way. What happened back there, with your father… you didn't deserve that." His tone hardened. "_No one_ ought to deserve that."

"But if I hadn't –"

"No. _Don't_." He caught her gaze with his own feverish one, trying to drive across the sincerity of what he felt through the seemingly unbridgeable gap between them. "You're as blameless in the matter as I am."

She looked away. "If only that were so easy to believe."

The urge to grab her puffy-sleeved shoulders and shake some sense into her was sudden and overwhelming, and he only managed to stifle it by pressing down his hands against the stone steps.

"Listen to me." It was difficult to keep the roughness from his voice. "There's nothing you could've done to change what he did. You're not him."

She turned back to him, eyes welling up in tremulous denial once more. "But, I –"

"Honestly, there's no use blaming yourself!"

Judging by her quivering lower lip and how she flinched away from him, he must have said that more forcefully than he realized. He sighed, exasperated with himself and the situation.

"Alicia," he began, more gently this time, "I know what it's like, too. There was a time where I thought I was to blame for everything bad in my life." Speaking those words invariably brought back the remembered traumas of his bitter childhood, and he nearly abandoned his plan to continue, were it not for some instinct that told him he needed to say this. That _she_ needed to hear this.

"But it didn't help at all. It didn't make anyone more willing to help me; it certainly didn't make me more willing to help myself. It was only a lie – one that enabled me to believe that I had the power to change things, when they were actually never within my control in the first place. That I wasn't as helpless as my circumstances made me out to be.

Discomfited by the intimacy his revelation enforced, he let his gaze fall from her face onto the ever-shifting surface of the pool. "Trust me, it's better to simply accept that what's happened _has_ happened, and move on. Better, anyhow, than wallowing in regret over things you can't change."

A moment passed where neither he nor Alicia said anything, and the air was once more filled with the sounds of townswomen's gossip and splashing water. Ever the trusty heralds of approaching dusk, rays of pink-gold alighted on pool's surface, captivating the eye with the sparkles left in their wake.

Eventually, Rufus clambered to his feet, feeling that to linger would be imposing on the tenuous _something_ – it was not yet tangible enough to be defined – that had just taken root between them. "We should get going," he said, extending his hand to her as she turned in his direction. "Dylan and Lezard are probably already waiting for us at the inn."

Her eyes now mercifully dry (if still red), she met his gaze. "Yes. Yes, you're right."

Whether she was expressing her agreement to his suggestion or the words previous, he neither knew nor had the opportunity to figure out, for it was then that she grasped his proffered hand and hauled herself up. The warm suppleness of her hand – a quality so unlike that of many other things he had touched – was startling against his bare skin, and a strange thrill raced up his arm at the contact.

Perhaps she had also felt the same odd sensation – and was unnerved by it – for she abruptly let go of his hand. This immediately brought a mortified blush to her cheeks, but her embarrassment was quickly forgotten as she became aware of the item clutched in her other hand: his tear-soaked handkerchief.

"I suppose I should return this to you," she babbled, her eyes skittering over the piece of cloth and its numerous damp patches. "If you'd just leave me a moment to wash –"

"No," he interjected just as she squatted down in preparation of carrying out her proclaimed task. "Keep it. I don't use it anyway."

"If you're sure –?"

His reply came in the form of a terse nod. She gave the handkerchief a quick rinse nevertheless, before placing it – neatly folded, of course – atop the pile of clothes in her washbasin. They then left the laundry pool together, the townswomen's endless chatter echoing behind them.

Rufus never did receive his handkerchief back.

* * *

A/N: Enter Lezard, the likely insane mage with a god-complex. "Ahahahahahahaha! Kneel down before me!" Lolz. As a playable character, it's too bad he's nowhere near as powerful for as I'd described; I'd learned to throw him out of the party rather early on.

I was never particularly fond of him (though I did think he'd make an excellent villain), but neither do I dislike him to the extent in which I have portrayed Rufus. Canonically, Rufus interacts with Lezard only very infrequently – however, this is more due to the fact that Lezard takes a back-seat role for the better part of the game (until he arises as the ultimate villain, of course). I suppose I exaggerated the context of the specific in-game line: "Sweet-talk all you want. Silmeria can see right through it" and combined it with Rufus' naturally distrusting personality; this was the result.

Alicia's grief – another point the game producers failed to address, but one that has ultimately no bearing on the events of the story. Rufus waxes philosophical on my account.

There's this guy in Villnore who goes on about how there had never been a recorded sighting of a male elf. Hence my conclusion that they are an all-female race. Their methods of reproduction? Your guess is as good as mine.

For those of you who don't know, 'parthenogenesis' means virgin birth.


End file.
